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LOBO, RAG, AND VIXEN 



LOBO, RAG, AND VIXEN 



AND PICTURES 



BY 



ERNEST SETON THOMPSON 

AUTHOR OF "WILD ANIMALS I HAVE KNOWN," "ART ANATOMY 
OF ANIMALS," ETC. 



Being the Personal Histories of 
LOBO 
REDRUFF 
RAGGYLUG & 
VIXEN 



NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1899 

Ccrvw fc, 



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^G 301899 



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Copyright, 1899, by 
ERNEST SETON THOMPSON 

TWO0OPIE& RE<*ulv* 



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FlUtT 001*Y. 



TROW DIRECTORY 

PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY 

NEW YORK 






NOTE TO THE READER 

These Stories, selected from those published in 
" Wild Animals I Have Known," are true his- 
tories of the animals described, and are intended 
to show hozv their lives are lived. 

Though the lower animals have no language 
in the full se?ise as we understand it, they have 
a system of sounds, signs, touches, tastes, and 
smells that answers the purpose of language, and 
I merely tra?islate this, when necessary, into 
English. 

Ernest Seton Thompson 



144 Fifth Avenue, New York 
May 7, 1899 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



FACING 
PAGE 

LOBO AND BLANCA l8 

Redruff Saving Runtie ...... 60 

Mammy ! Mammy ! 78 

They Tussled and Fought 126 






\7 — 






LOBO 

THE KING OF CURRUMPAW 



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LOBO 
THE KING OF CURRUMPAW 



CURRUMPAW is a vast cattle range in 
northern New Mexico. It is a land of 
rich pastures and teeming flocks and 
herds, a land of rolling mesas and precious 
running waters that at length unite in the Cur- 
rumpaw River, from which the whole region 
is named. And the king whose despotic pow- 
er was felt over its entire extent was an old 
gray wolf. 

Old Lobo, or the king, as the Mexicans called 
him, was the gigantic leader of a remarkable 
pack of gray wolves, that had ravaged the 
Currumpaw Valley for a number of years. 
All the shepherds and ranchmen knew him 
well, and, wherever he appeared with his 
trusty band, terror reigned supreme among 
the cattle, and wrath and despair among their 
owners. Old Lobo was a giant among wolves, 
and was cunning and strong in proportion to 

3 



4 Lobo 

his size. His voice at night was well-known 
and easily distinguished from that of any of 
his fellows. An ordinary wolf might howl half 
the night about the herdsman's bivouac with- 
out attracting more than a passing notice, but 
when the deep roar of the old king came boom- 
ing down the canon, the watcher bestirred 
himself and prepared to learn in the morning 
that fresh and serious inroads had been made 
among the herds. 

Old Lobo's band was but a small one. This 
I never quite understood, for usually, when a 
wolf rises to the position and power that he 
had, he attracts a numerous following. It may 
be that he had as many as he desired, or per- 
haps his ferocious temper prevented the in- 
crease of his pack. Certain is it that Lobo 
had only five followers during the latter part 
of his reign. Each of these, however, was a 
wolf of renown, most of them were above the 
ordinary size, one in particular, the second in 
command, was a veritable giant, but even he 
was far below the leader in size and prowess. 
Several of the band, besides the two leaders, 
were especially noted. One of those was a 
beautiful white wolf, that the Mexicans called 
Blanca ; this was supposed to be a female, 
possibly Lobo's mate. Another was a yellow 



Lobo , 5 

wolf of remarkable swiftness, which, according 
to current stories, had, on several occasions, 
captured an antelope for the pack. 

It will be seen, then, that these wolves were 
thoroughly well-known to the cowboys and 
shepherds. They were frequently seen and 
oftener heard, and their lives were intimately 
associated with those of the cattlemen, who 
would so gladly have destroyed them. There 
was not a stockman on the Currumpaw Avho 
would not readily have given the value of 
many steers for the scalp of any one of Lobo's 
band, but they seemed to possess charmed 
lives, and defied all manner of devices to kill 
them. They scorned all hunters, derided all 
poisons, and continued, for at least five years, 
to -exact their tribute from the Currumpaw 
ranchers to the extent, many said, of a cow 
each day. According to this estimate, there- 
fore, the band had killed more than two thou- 
sand of the finest stock, for, as was only too 
well-known, they selected the best in every 
instance. 

The old idea that a wolf was constantly in a 
starving state, and therefore ready to eat any- 
thing, was as far as possible from the truth in 
this case, for these freebooters were always 
sleek and well-conditioned, and were in fact 



6 Lobo 

most fastidious about what they ate. Any 
animal that had died from natural causes, or 
that was diseased or tainted, they would not 
touch, and they even rejected anything that 
had been killed by the stockmen. Their choice 
and daily food was the tenderer part of a fresh- 
ly killed yearling heifer. An old bull or cow 
they disdained, and though they occasionally 
took a young calf or colt, it was quite clear 
that veal or horseflesh was not their favorite 
diet. It was also known that they were not 
fond of mutton, although they often amused 
themselves by killing sheep. One night in 
November, 1893, Blanca and the yellow wolf 
killed two hundred and fifty sheep, apparently 
for the fun of it, and did not eat an ounce of 
their flesh. 

These are examples of many stories which I 
might repeat, to show the ravages of this de- 
structive band. Many new devices for their 
extinction were tried each year, but still they 
lived and throve in spite of all the efforts of 
their foes. A great price was set on Lobo's 
head, and in consequence poison in a score of 
subtle forms was put out for him, but he never 
failed to detect and avoid it. One thing only 
he feared — that was firearms, and knowing full 
well that all men in this region carried them, 



Lobo 7 

he never was known to attack or face a human 
being. Indeed, the set policy of his band was 
to take refuge in flight whenever, in the day- 
time, a man was descried, no matter at what 
distance. Lobo's habit of permitting the pack 
to eat only that which they themselves had 
killed, was in numerous cases their salvation, 
and the keenness of his scent to detect the taint 
of human hands or the poison itself, completed 
their immunity. 

On one occasion, one of the cowboys heard 
the too familiar rallying-cry of Old Lobo, and 
stealthily approaching, he found the Currum- 
paw pack in a hollow, where they had ' round- 
ed up ' a small herd of cattle. Lobo sat apart 
on a knoll, while Blanca with the rest was en- 
deavoring to ' cut out ' a young cow, which 
they had selected ; but the cattle were standing 
in a compact mass with their heads outward, 
and presented to the foe a line of horns, un- 
broken save when some cow, frightened by a 
fresh onset of the wolves, tried to retreat into 
the middle of the herd. It was only by taking 
advantage of these breaks that the wolves had 
succeeded at all in wounding the selected cow, 
but she was far from being disabled, and it 
seemed that Lobo at length lost patience with 
his followers, for he left his position on the hill, 



8 Lobo 

and, uttering a deep roar, dashed toward the 
herd. The terrified rank broke at his charge, 
and he sprang in among them. Then the cattle 
scattered like the pieces of a bursting bomb. 
Away went the chosen victim, but ere she had 
gone twenty-five yards Lobo was upon her. 
Seizing her by the neck he suddenly held back 
with all his force and so threw her heavily to 
the ground. The shock must have been tre- 
mendous, for the heifer was thrown heels over 
head. Lobo also turned a somersault, but im- 
mediately recovered himself, and his followers 
falling on the poor cow, killed her in a few sec- 
onds. Lobo took no part in the killing — after 
having thrown the victim, he seemed to say, 
" Now, why could not some of you have done 
that at once without wasting so much time?" 

The man now rode up shouting, the wolves 
as usual retired, and he, having a bottle of 
strychnine, quickly poisoned the carcass in 
three places, then went away, knowing they 
would return to feed, as they had killed the 
animals themselves. But next morning, on go- 
ing to look for his expected victims, he found 
that, although the wolves had eaten the heifer, 
they had carefully cut out and thrown aside all 
those parts that had been poisoned. 

The dread of this great wolf spread yearly 



Lobo 9 

among the ranchmen, and each year a larger 
price was set on his head, until at last it reached 
$1,000, an unparalleled wolf-bounty, surely; 
many a good man has been hunted down for 
less. Tempted by the promised reward, a 
Texan ranger named Tannerey came one day 
galloping up the canon of the Currumpaw. He 
had a superb outfit for wolf-hunting — the best 
of guns and horses, and a pack of enormous 
wolf-hounds. Far out on the plains of the Pan- 
handle, he and his dogs had killed many a wolf, 
and now he never doubted that, within a few 
days, old Lobo's scalp would dangle at his sad- 
dle-bow. 

Away they went bravely on their hunt in the 
gray dawn of a summer morning, and soon the 
great dogs gave joyous tongue to say that they 
were already on the track of their quarry. 
Within two miles, the grizzly band of Currum- 
paw leaped into view, and the chase grew fast 
and furious. The part of the wolf-hounds was 
merely to hold the wolves at bay till the hunter 
could ride up and shoot them, and this usually 
was easy on the open plains of Texas ; but 
here a new feature of the country came into 
play, and showed how well Lobo had chosen 
his range ; for the rocky canons of the Currum- 
paw and its tributaries intersect the prairies in 



io Lobo 

every direction. The old wolf at once made 
for the nearest of these and by crossing it got 
rid of the horsemen. His band then scattered 
and thereby scattered the dogs, and when they 
reunited at a distant point of course all of the 
dogs did not turn up, and the wolves, no longer 
outnumbered, turned on their pursuers and 
killed or desperately wounded them all. That 
night when Tannerey mustered his dogs, only 
six of them returned, and of these, two were 
terribly lacerated. This hunter made two 
other attempts to capture the royal scalp, but 
neither of them was more successful than the 
first, and on the last occasion his best horse 
met its death by a fall ; so he gave up the 
chase in disgust and went back to Texas, leav- 
ing Lobo more than ever the despot of the 
region. 

Next year, two other hunters appeared, de- 
termined to win the promised bounty. Each 
believed he could destroy this noted wolf, the 
first by means of a newly devised poison, which 
was to be laid out in an entirely new manner ; 
the other a French Canadian, by poison as- 
sisted with certain spells and charms, for he 
firmly believed that Lobo was a veritable 
• loup-garou,' and could not be killed by or- 
dinary means. But cunningly compounded 



Lobo 1 1 

poisons, charms, and incantations were all of 
no avail against this grizzly devastator. He 
made his weekly rounds and daily banquets as 
aforetime, and before many weeks had passed, 
Calone and Laloche gave up in despair and 
went elsewhere to hunt. 

In the spring of 1893, after his unsuccessful 
attempt to capture Lobo, Joe Calone had a 
humiliating experience, which seems' to show 
that the big wolf simply scorned his enemies, 
and had absolute confidence in himself. Ca- 
lone's farm was on a small tributary of the 
Currumpaw, in a picturesque canon, and among 
the rocks of this very canon, within a thousand 
yards of the house, old Lobo and his mate se- 
lected their den and raised their family that 
season. There they lived all summer, and 
killed Joe's cattle, sheep, and dogs, but laughed 
at all his poisons and traps, and rested secure- 
ly among the recesses of the cavernous cliffs, 
while Joe vainly racked his brain for some meth- 
od of smoking them out, or of reaching them 
with dynamite. But they escaped entirely un- 
scathed, and continued their ravages as before. 
"There's where he lived all last summer," 
said Joe, pointing to the face of the cliff, " and 
I couldn't do a thing with him. I was like a 
fool to him." 



1 2 Lobo 



ii 



This history, gathered so far from the cow- 
boys, I found hard to believe until, in the fall 
of 1893, I made the acquaintance of the wily 
marauder, and a«t length came to know him 
more thoroughly than anyone else. Some 
years before, in the Bingo days, I had been a 
wolf-hunter, but my occupations since then had 
been of another sort, chaining me to stool and 
desk. I was much in need of a change, and 
when a friend, who was also a ranch-owner 
on the Currumpaw, asked me to come to New 
Mexico and try if I could do anything with 
this predatory pack, I accepted the invitation 
and, eager to make the acquaintance of its 
king, was as soon as possible among the mesas 
of that region. I spent some time riding about 
to learn the country, and at intervals, my guide 
would point to the skeleton of a cow to which 
the hide still adhered, and remark, " That's 
some of his work." 

It became quite clear to me that, in this 
rough country, it was useless to think of pur- 
suing Lobo with hounds and horses, so that 
poison or traps were the only available expe- 
dients. At present we had no traps large 
enough, so I set to work with poison. 



Loho 13 

I need not enter into the details of a hun- 
dred devices that I employed to circumvent 
this ' loup-garou ' ; there was no combination 
of strychnine, arsenic, cyanide, or prussic acid, 
that I did not essay ; there was no manner of 
flesh that I did not try as bait ; but morning 
after morning, as I rode forth to learn the result, 
I found that all my efforts had been useless. 
The old king was too cunning for me. A sin- 
gle instance will show his wonderful sagacity. 
Acting on the hint of an old trapper, I melted 
some cheese together with the kidney fat of a 
freshly killed heifer, stewing it in a china dish, 
and cutting it with a bone knife to avoid the 
taint of metal. When the mixture was cool, I 
cut it into lumps, and making a hole in one 
side of each lump, I inserted a large dose of 
strychnine and cyanide, contained in a capsule 
that was impermeable by any odor; finally I 
sealed the holes up with pieces of the cheese 
itself. During the whole process, I wore a 
pair of gloves steeped in the hot blood of the 
heifer, and even avoided breathing on the 
baits. When all was ready, I put them in a 
raw-hide bag rubbed all over with blood, and 
rode forth dragging the liver and kidneys of 
the beef at the end of a rope. With this I 
made a ten-mile circuit, dropping a bait at 



14 Lobo 

each quarter of a mile, and taking the utmost 
care, always, not to touch any with my hands. 

Lobo, generally, came into this part of the 
range in the early part of each week, and passed 
the latter part, it was supposed, around the 
base of Sierra Grande. This was Monday, and 
that same evening, as we were about to retire, 
I heard the deep bass howl of his majesty. On 
hearing it one of the boys briefly remarked, 
" There he is, we'll see." 

The next morning I went forth, eager to 
know the result. I soon came on the fresh trail 
of the robbers, with Lobo in the lead — his track 
was always easily distinguished. An ordinary 
wolf's forefoot is 4^ inches long, that of a large 
wolf 4^ inches, but Lobo's, as measured a 
number of times, was 5*^ inches from claw to 
heel ; I afterward found that his other propor- 
tions were commensurate, for he stood three 
feet high at the shoulder, and weighed 150 
pounds. His trail, therefore, though obscured 
by those of his followers, was never difficult to 
trace. The pack had soon found the track of 
my drag, and as usual followed it. I could see 
that Lobo had come to the first bait, sniffed 
about it, and had finally picked it up. 

Then I could not conceal my delight. " I've 
got him at last," I exclaimed ; " I shall find him 



Lobo 15 

stark within a mile," and I galloped on with 
eager eyes fixed on the great broad track in 
the dust. It led me to the second bait and that 
also was gone. How I exulted — I surely have 
him now and perhaps several of his band. But 
there was the broad paw-mark still on the drag ; 
and though I stood in the stirrup and scanned 
the plain I saw nothing that looked like a dead 
wolf. Again I followed — to find now that the 
third bait was gone — and the king-wolfs track 
led on to the fourth, there to learn that he had 
not really taken a bait at all, but had merely 
carried them in his mouth. Then having piled 
the three on the fourth, he scattered filth over 
them to express his utter contempt for my 
devices. After this he left my drag and went 
about his business with the pack he guarded so 
effectively. 

This is only one of many similar experiences 
which convinced me that poison would never 
avail to destroy this robber, and though I con- 
tinued to use it while awaiting the arrival of 
the traps, it was only because it was meanwhile 
a sure means of killing many prairie wolves and 
other destructive vermin. 

About this time there came under my obser- 
vation an incident that will illustrate Lobo's 
diabolic cunning. These wolves had at least 



1 6 Lobo 

one pursuit which was merely an amusement, 
it was stampeding and killing sheep, though 
they rarely ate them. The sheep are usually 
kept in flocks of from one thousand to three 
thousand under one or more shepherds. At 
night they are gathered in the most sheltered 
place available, and a herdsman sleeps on each 
side of the flock to give additional protection. 
Sheep are such senseless creatures that they are 
liable to be stampeded by the veriest trifle, but 
they have deeply ingrained in their nature one, 
and perhaps only one, strong weakness, namely, 
to follow their leader. And this the shepherds 
turn to good account by putting half a dozen 
goats in the flock of sheep. The latter recog- 
nize the superior intelligence of their bearded 
cousins, and when a night alarm occurs they 
crowd around them, and usually are thus saved 
from a stampede and are easily protected. But 
it was not always so. One night late in last 
November, two Perico shepherds were aroused 
by an onset of wolves. Their flocks huddled 
around the goats, which being neither fools 
nor cowards, stood their ground and were 
bravely defiant ; but alas for them, no common 
wolf was heading this attack. Old Lobo, the 
weir-wolf, knew as well as the shepherds that 
the goats were the moral force of the flock, so 



Lobo 1 7 

hastily running over the backs of the densely 
packed sheep, he fell on these leaders, slew 
them all in a few minutes, and soon had the 
luckless sheep stampeding in a thousand differ- 
ent directions. For weeks afterward I was al- 
most daily accosted by some anxious shepherd, 
who asked, " Have you seen any stray OTO 
sheep lately ? " and usually I was obliged to say 
I had ; one day it was, " Yes, I came on some 
five or six carcasses by Diamond Springs;" 
or another, it was to the effect that I had seen 
a small ' bunch ' running on the Malpai Mesa ; 
or again, "No, but Juan Meira saw about 
twenty, freshly killed, on the Cedra Monte 
two days ago." 

At length the wolf traps arrived, and with 
two men I worked a whole week to get them 
properly set out. We spared no labor or pains, 
I adopted every device I could think of that 
might help to insure success. The second day 
after the traps arrived, I rode around to in- 
spect, and soon came upon Lobo's trail running 
from trap to trap. In the dust I could read the 
whole story of his doings that night. He had 
trotted along in the darkness, and although the 
traps were so carefully concealed, he had in- 
stantly detected the first one. Stopping the 
onward march of the pack, he had cautiously 



i8 



Lobo 



scratched around it until he had disclosed the 
trap, the chain, and the log, then left them 
wholly exposed to view with the trap still un- 
sprung, and passing on he treated over a dozen 
traps in the same fashion. Very soon I noticed 
that he stopped and turned aside as soon as he 
detected suspicious signs on the trail, and a new 
plan to outwit him at once suggested itself. I 
set the traps in the form of an H ; that is, with 
a row of traps on each side of the trail, and 
one on the trail for the cross-bar of the H. Be- 
fore long, I had an opportunity to count an- 
other failure. Lobo came trotting along the 
trail, and was fairly between the parallel lines 
before he detected the single trap in the trail, 
but he stopped in time, and why and how he 
knew enough I cannot tell; the Angel of the 
wild things must have been with him, but with- 
out turning an inch to the right or left, he 
slowly and cautiously backed on his own tracks, 
putting each paw exactly in its old track until 
he was off the dangerous ground. Then return- 
ing at one side he scratched clods and stones 
with his hind feet till he had sprung every trap. 
This he did on many other occasions, and al- 
though I varied my methods and redoubled my 
precautions, he was never deceived, his sagac- 
ity seemed never at fault, and he might have 



Lobo 1 9 

been pursuing his career of rapine to-day, but 
for an unfortunate alliance that proved his 
ruin and added his name to the long list of he- 
roes who, unassailable when alone, have fallen 
through the indiscretion of a trusted ally. 



ill 

Once or twice, I had found indications that 
everything was not quite right in the Currum- 
paw pack. There were signs of irregularity, I 
thought ; for instance there was clearly the trail 
of a smaller wolf running ahead of the leader, 
at times, and this I could not understand until 
a cowboy made a remark which explained the 
matter. 

" I saw them to-day," he said, " and the wild 
one that breaks away is Blanca." Then the 
truth dawned upon me, and I added, " Now, I 
know that Blanca is a she-wolf, because were 
a he-wolf to act thus, Lobo would kill him at 
once." 

This suggested a new plan. I killed a heifer, 
and set one or two rather obvious traps about 
the carcass. Then cutting off the head, which 
is considered useless offal, and quite beneath 
the notice of a wolf, I set it a little apart and 
around it placed six powerful steel traps prop- 



20 Lobo 

erly deodorized and concealed with the utmost 
care. During my operations I kept my hands, 
boots, and implements smeared with fresh 
blood, and afterward sprinkled the ground with 
the same, as though it had flowed from the 
head ; and when the traps were buried in the 
dust I brushed the place over with the skin of 
a coyote, and with a foot of the same animal 
made a number of tracks over the traps. The 
head was so placed that there was a narrow 
passage between it and some tussocks, and in 
this passage I buried two of my best traps, fas- 
tening them to the head itself. 

Wolves have the habit of approaching every 
carcass they get the wind of, in order to exam- 
ine it, even when they have no intention of 
eating it, and I hoped that this habit would 
bring the Currumpaw pack within reach of my 
latest stratagem. I did not doubt that Lobo 
would detect my handiwork about the meat, 
and prevent the pack approaching it, but I did 
build some hopes on the head, for it looked as 
though it had been thrown aside as useless. 

Next morning, I sallied forth to inspect the 
traps, and there, oh, joy ! were the tracks of 
the pack, and the place where the beef-head 
and its traps had been was empty. A hasty 
study of the trail showed that Lobo had kept 



Lobo 21 

the pack from approaching the meat, but one, 
a small wolf, had evidently gone on to examine 
the head as it lay apart and had walked right 
into one of the traps. 

We set out on the trail, and within a mile 
discovered that the hapless wolf was Blanca. 
Away she went, however, at a gallop, and al- 
though encumbered by the beef-head, which 
weighed over fifty pounds, she speedily dis- 
tanced my companion who was on foot. But 
we overtook her when she reached the rocks, 
for the horns of the cow's head became caught 
and held her fast. She was the handsomest 
wolf I had ever seen. Her coat was in perfect 
condition and nearly white. 

She turned to fight, and raising her voice in 
the rallying cry of her race, sent a long howl 
rolling over the canon. From far away upon 
the mesa came a deep response, the cry of Old 
Lobo. That was her last call, for now we had 
closed in on her, and all her energy and breath 
were devoted to combat. 

Then followed the inevitable tragedy, the 
idea of which I shrank from afterward more 
than at the time. We each threw a lasso over 
the neck of the doomed wolf, and strained our 
horses in opposite directions until the blood 
burst from her mouth, her eyes glazed, her 



2 2 Lobo 

limbs stiffened and then fell limp. Homeward 
then we rode, carrying the dead wolf, and ex- 
ulting over this, the first death-blow we had 
been able to inflict on the Currumpaw pack. 

At intervals during the tragedy, and after- 
ward as we rode homeward, we heard the roar 
of Lobo as he wandered about on the distant 
mesas, where he seemed to be searching for 
Blanca. He had never really deserted her, 
but knowing that he could not save her, his 
deep-rooted dread of firearms had been too 
much for him when he saw us approaching. 
All that day we heard him wailing as he 
roamed in his quest, and I remarked at length 
to one of the boys, " Now, indeed, I truly know 
that Blanca was his mate." 

As evening fell he seemed to be coming 
toward the home canon, for his voice sounded 
continually nearer. There was an unmistaka- 
ble note of sorrow in it now. It was no longer 
the loud, defiant howl, but a long, plaintive 
wail : " Blanca ! Blanca ! " he seemed to call. 
And as night came down, I noticed that he 
was not far from the place where we had over- 
taken her. At length he seemed to find the 
trail, and when he came to the spot where we 
had killed her, his heart-broken wailing was 
piteous to hear. It was sadder than I could 



Lobo 23 

possibly have believed. Even the stolid cow- 
boys noticed it, and said they had " never 
heard a wolf carry on like that before." He 
seemed to know exactly what had taken place, 
for her blood had stained the place of her death. 

Then he took up the trail of the horses and 
followed it to the ranch-house. Whether in 
hopes of finding her there, or in quest of re- 
venge, I know not, but the latter was what 
he found, for he surprised our unfortunate 
watchdog outside and tore him to little bits 
within fifty yards of the door. He evidently 
came alone this time, for I found but one trail 
next morning, and he had galloped about in 
a reckless manner that was very unusual with 
him. I had half expected this, and had set a 
number of additional traps about the pasture. 
Afterward I found that he had indeed fallen 
into one of these, but such was his strength, 
he had torn himself loose and cast it aside. 

I believed that he would continue in the 
neighborhood until he found her body at least, 
so I concentrated all my energies on this one 
enterprise of catching him before he left the 
region, and while yet in this reckless mood. 
Then I realized what a mistake I had made in 
killing Blanca, for by using her as a decoy I 
might have secured him the next night. 



24 Lobo 

I gathered in all the traps I could command, 
one hundred and thirty strong steel wolf-traps, 
and set them in fours in every trail that led 
into the canon ; each trap was separately fas- 
tened to a log, and each log was separately 
buried. In burying them, I carefully removed 
the sod and every particle of earth that was 
lifted we put in blankets, so that after the sod 
was replaced and all was finished the eye could 
detect no trace of human handiwork. When 
the traps were concealed I trailed the body of 
poor Blanca over each place, and made of it 
a drag that circled all about the ranch, and 
finally I took off one of her paws and made 
with it a line of tracks over each trap. Every 
precaution and device known to me I used, 
and retired at a late hour to await the result. 

Once during the night I thought I heard Old 
Lobo, but was not sure of it. Next day I rode 
around, but darkness came on before I com- 
pleted the circuit of the north canon, and I had 
nothing to report. At supper one of the cow- 
boys said, " There was a great row among the 
cattle in the north canon this morning, maybe 
there is something in the traps there." It was 
afternoon of the next day before I got to the 
place referred to, and as I drew near a great 
grizzly form arose from the ground, vainly en- 






Lobo 25 

deavoring to escape, and there revealed before 
me stood Lobo, King of the Currumpaw, firmly 
held in the traps. Poor old hero, he had never 
ceased to search for his darling, and when he 
found the trail her body had made he followed 
it recklessly, and so fell into the snare prepared 
for him. There he lay in the iron grasp of all 
four traps, perfectly helpless, and all around him 
were numerous tracks showing how the cattle 
had gathered about him to insult the fallen des- 
pot, without daring to approach within his 
reach. For two days and two nights he had 
lain there, and now was worn out with strug- 
gling. Yet, when I went near him, he rose up 
with bristling mane and raised his voice, and 
for the last time made the canon reverberate 
with his deep bass roar, a call for help, the 
muster call of his band. But there was none 
to answer him, and, left alone in his extremity, 
he whirled about with all his strength and made 
a desperate effort to get at me. All in vain, 
each trap was a dead drag of over three hun- 
dred pounds, and in their relentless fourfold 
grasp, with great steel jaws on every foot, and 
the heavy logs and chains all entangled together, 
he was absolutely powerless. How his huge 
ivory tusks did grind on those cruel chains, and 
when I ventured to touch him with my rifle- 



26 Lobo 

barrel he left grooves on it which are there to 
this day. His eyes glared green with hate and 
fury, and his jaws snapped with a hollow ' chop,' 
as he vainly endeavored to reach me and my 
trembling horse. But he was worn out with 
hunger and struggling and loss of blood, and he 
soon sank exhausted to the ground. 

Something like compunction came over me, 
as I prepared to deal out to him that which so 
many had suffered at his hands. 

" Grand old outlaw, hero of a thousand law- 
less raids, in a few minutes you will be but a 
great load of carricn. It cannot be otherwise." 
Then I swung my lasso and sent it whistling 
over his head. But not so fast ; he was yet far 
from being subdued, and, before the supple 
coils had fallen on his neck he seized the noose 
and, with one fierce chop, cut through its hard 
thick strands, and dropped it in two pieces at 
his feet. 

Of course I had my rifle as a last resource, 
but I did not wish to spoil his royal hide, so I 
galloped back to the camp and returned with a 
cowboy and a fresh lasso. We threw to our 
victim a stick of wood which he seized in his 
teeth, and before he could relinquish it our 
lassoes whistled through the air and tightened 
on his neck. 



Lobo 2 7 

Yet before the light had died from his fierce 
eyes, I cried, " Stay, we will not kill him ; let 
us take him alive to the camp." He was so 
completely powerless now that it was easy to 
put a stout stick through his mouth, behind his 
tusks, and then lash his jaws with a heavy cord 
which was also fastened to the stick. The stick 
kept the cord in, and the cord kept the stick 
in, so he was harmless. As soon as he felt his 
jaws were tied he made no further resistance, 
and uttered no sound, but looked calmly at us 
and seemed to say, " Well, you have got me at 
last, do as you please with me." And from that 
time he took no more notice of us. 

We tied his feet securely, but he never 
groaned, nor growled, nor turned his head. 
Then with our united strength we were just 
able to put him on my horse. His breath came 
evenly as though sleeping, and his eyes were 
bright and clear again, but did not rest on us. 
Afar on the great rolling mesas they were fixed, 
his passing kingdom, where his famous band 
was now scattered. And he gazed till the 
pony descended the pathway into the canon, 
and the rocks cut off the view. 

By travelling slowly we reached the ranch in 
safety, and after securing him with a collar and 
a strong chain, we staked him out in the past- 



28 Lobo 

ure and removed the cords. Then for the first 
time I could examine him closely, and proved 
how unreliable is vulgar report where a living 
hero or tyrant is concerned. He had not a. 
collar of gold about his neck, nor was there on 
his shoulders an inverted cross to denote that 
he had leagued himself with Satan. But I did 
find on one haunch a great broad scar, that 
tradition says was the fang-mark of Juno, the 
leader of Tannerey's wolf-hounds — a mark 
which she gave him the moment before he 
stretched her lifeless on the sand of the canon. 

I set meat and water beside him, but he paid 
no heed. He lay calmly on his breast, and 
gazed with those steadfast yellow eyes away 
past me down through the gateway of the 
canon, over the open plains — his plains — nor 
moved a muscle when I touched him. When 
the sun went down he was still gazing fixedly 
across the prairie. I expected he would call up 
his band when night came, and prepared for 
them, but he had called once in his extremity, 
and none had come ; he would never call again. 

A lion shorn of his strength, an eagle robbed 
of his freedom, or a dove bereft of his mate, all 
die, it is said, of a broken heart; and who will 



Lobo 29 

aver that this grim bandit could bear the three- 
fold brunt, heart-whole? This only I know, 
that when the morning dawned, he was lying 
there still in his position of calm repose, but his 
spirit was gone — the old king-wolf was dead. 

I took the chain from his neck, a cowboy 
helped me to carry him to the shed where lay 
the remains of Blanca, and as we laid him be- 
side her, the cattle-man exclaimed : " There, 
you would come to her, now you are together 
again." 



REDRUFF 

THE STORY OF THE DON VALLEY 
PARTRIDGE 



REDRUFF 

THE STORY OF THE DON VALLEY 
PARTRIDGE 



DOWN the wooded slope of Taylor's Hill 
the Mother Partridge led her brood ; 
down toward the crystal brook that by 
some strange whim was called Mud Creek. 
Her little ones were one day old but already 
quick on foot, and she was taking them for the 
first time to drink. 

She walked slowly, crouching low as she 
went, for the woods were full of enemies. She 
was uttering a soft little cluck in her throat, a 
call to the little balls of mottled down that on 
their tiny pink legs came toddling after, and 
peeping softly and plaintively if left even a few 
inches behind, and seeming so fragile they made 
the very chicadees look big and coarse. There 
were twelve of them, but Mother Grouse 
watched them all, and she watched every bush 
and tree and thicket, and the whole woods and 

33 



34 Redruff 

the sky itself. Always for enemies she seemed 
seeking — friends were too scarce to be looked 
for — and an enemy she found. Away across 
the level beaver meadow was a great brute of a 
fox. He was coming their way, and in a few 
moments would surely wind them or strike 
their trail. There was no time to lose. 

t Krrrt Krrr /' (Hide! Hide!) cried the 
mother in a low, firm voice, and the little bits 
of things, scarcely bigger than acorns and but 
a day old, scattered far (a few inches) apart to 
hide. One dived under a leaf, another between 
two roots, a third crawled into a curl of birch- 
bark, a fourth into a hole, and so on, till all 
were hidden but one who could find no cover, 
so squatted on a broad yellow chip and lay 
very flat, and closed his eyes very tight, sure 
that now he was safe from being seen. They 
ceased their frightened peeping and all was 
still. 

Mother Partridge flew straight toward the 
dreaded beast, alighted fearlessly a few yards 
to one side of him, and then flung herself on 
the ground, flopping as though winged and 
lame — oh, so dreadfully lame — and whining like 
a distressed puppy. Was she begging for 
mercy — mercy from a bloodthirsty, cruel fox ? 
Oh, dear , no ! She was no fool. One often 



Redruff 35 

hears of the cunning of the fox. Wait and see 
what a fool he is compared with a mother-par- 
tridge. Elated at the prize so suddenly within 
his reach, the fox turned with a dash and caught 
— at least, no, he didn't quite catch the bird ; 
she flopped by chance just a foot out of reach. 
He followed with another jump and would 
have seized her this time surely, but somehow 
a sapling came just between, and the partridge 
dragged herself awkwardly away and under a 
log, but the great brute snapped his jaws and 
bounded over the log, while she, seeming a 
trifle less lame, made another clumsy forward 
spring and tumbled down a bank, and Reynard, 
keenly following, almost caught her tail, but, 
oddly enough, fast as he went and leaped, she 
still seemed just a trifle faster. It was most ex- 
traordinary. A winged partridge and he, Rey- 
nard, the Swift-foot, had not caught her in five 
minutes' racing. It was really shameful. But 
the.partridge seemed to gain strength as the fox 
put forth his, and after a quarter of a mile race, 
racing that was somehow all away from Tay- 
lor's Hill, the bird got unaccountably quite 
well, and, rising with a decisive whirr, flew off 
through the woods, leaving the fox utterly dum- 
founded to realize that he had been made a fool 
of, and, worst of all, he now remembered that 



36 Redruff 

this was not the first time he had been served 
this very trick, though he never knew the rea- 
son for it 

Meanwhile Mother Partridge skimmed in a 
great circle and came by a roundabout way 
back to the little fuzz-balls she had left hidden 
in the woods. 

With a wild bird's keen memory for places, 
she went to the very grass-blade she last trod 
on, and stood for a moment fondly to admire 
the perfect stillness of her children. Even at 
her step not one had stirred, and the little fel- 
low on the chip, not so very badly concealed 
after all, had not budged, nor did he now ; he 
only closed his eyes a tiny little bit harder, till 
the mother said: 

* K-reet! ' (Come, children) and instantly, like 
a fairy story, every hole gave up its little baby- 
partridge, and the wee fellow on the chip, the 
biggest of them all really, opened his big-little 
eyes and ran to the shelter of her broad tail, 
with a sweet little ' peep peep' which an enemy 
could not have heard three feet away, but 
which his mother could not have missed thrice 
as far, and all the other thimblefuls of down 
joined in, and no doubt thought themselves 
dreadfully noisy, and were proportionately 
happy. 



Redruff 37 

The sun was hot now. There was an open 
space to cross on the road to the water, and, 
after a careful lookout for enemies, the mother 
gathered the little things under the shadow of 
her spread fantail and kept off all danger of 
sunstroke until they reached the brier thicket 
by the stream. 

Here a cottontail rabbit leaped out and gave 
them a great scare. But the flag of truce he 
carried behind was enough. He was an old 
friend ; and among other things the little ones 
learned that day that Bunny always sails under 
a flag of truce, and lives up to it too. 

And then came the drink, the purest of liv- 
ing water, though silly men had called it Mud 
Creek. 

At first the little fellows didn't know how to 
drink, but they copied their mother, and soon 
learned to drink like her and give thanks after 
every sip. There they stood in a row along the 
edge, twelve little brown and golden balls 
on twenty-four little pink-toed, in-turned feet, 
with twelve sweet little golden heads gravely 
bowing, drinking, and giving thanks like their 
mother. 

Then she led them by short stages, keeping 
the cover, to the far side of the beaver-meadow, 
where was a great, grassy dome. The mother 



38 Redruff 

had made a note of this dome some time be- 
fore. It takes a number of such domes to raise 
a brood of partridges. For this was an ant's 
nest. The old one stepped on top, looked 
about a moment, then gave half a dozen vigor- 
ous rakes with her claws. The friable ant-hill 
was broken open, and the earthen galleries 
scattered in ruins down the slope. The ants 
swarmed out and quarrelled with each other 
for lack of a better plan. Some ran around the 
hill with vast energy and little purpose, while a 
few of the more sensible began to carry away 
fat white eggs. But the old partridge, coming 
to the little ones, picked up one of these juicy- 
looking bags and clucked and dropped it, and 
picked it up again and again and clucked, then 
swallowed it. The young ones stood around, 
then one little yellow fellow, the one that sat on 
the chip, picked up an ant-egg, dropped it a 
few times, then yielding to a sudden impulse, 
swallowed it, and so had learned to eat. With- 
in twenty minutes even the runt had learned, 
and a merry time they had scrambling after the 
delicious eggs as their mother broke open more 
ant-galleries, and sent them and their contents 
rolling down the bank, till every little partridge 
had so crammed his little crop that he was pos- 
itively misshapen and could eat no more. 



Redruff 39 

Then all went cautiously up the stream, and 
on a sandy bank, well screened by brambles, 
they lay for all that afternoon, and learned how 
pleasant it was to feel the cool, powdery dust 
running between their hot little toes. With 
their strong bent for copying, they lay on their 
sides like their mother and scratched with their 
tiny feet and flopped with their wings, though 
they had no wings to flop with, only a little tag 
among the down on each side, to show where 
the wings would come. That night she took 
them to a dry thicket near by, and there among 
the crisp, dead leaves that would prevent an 
enemy's silent approach on foot, and under the 
interlacing briers that kept off all foes of the 
air, she cradled them in their feather-shingled 
nursery and rejoiced in the fulness of a mother's 
joy over the wee cuddling things that peeped 
in their sleep and snuggled so trustfully against 
her warm body. 

II 

The third day the chicks were much stronger 
on their feet. They no longer had to go around 
an acorn ; they could even scramble over pine- 
cones, and on the little tags that marked the 
places for their wings, were now to be seen 
blue rows of fat blood-quills. 



40 Redruff 

Their start in life was a good mother, good 
legs, a few reliable instincts, and a germ of rea- 
son. It was instinct, that is, inherited habit, 
which taught them to hide at the word from 
their mother ; it was instinct that taught them 
to follow her, but it was reason which made 
them keep under the shadow of her tail when 
the sun was smiting down, and from that day 
reason entered more and more into their ex- 
panding lives. 

Next day the blood-quills had sprouted the 
tips of feathers. On the next, the feathers 
were well out, and a week later the whole fam- 
ily of down-clad babies were strong on the 
wing. 

And yet not all — poor little Runtie had been 
sickly from the first. He bore his half-shell 
on his back for hours after he came out ; he 
ran less and cheeped more than his brothers, 
and when one evening at the onset of a skunk 
the mother gave the word ' Kwit, kwit ' (Fly, 
fly), Runtie was left behind, and when she 
gathered her brood on the piney hill he was 
missing, and they saw him no more. 

Meanwhile, their training had gone on. They 
knew that the finest grasshoppers abounded 
in the long grass by the brook ; they knew 
that the currant-bushes dropped fatness in the 



Redruff 41 

form of smooth, green worms ; they knew that 
the dome of an ant-hill rising against the dis- 
tant woods stood for a garner of plenty ; they 
knew that strawberries, though not really in- 
sects, were almost as delicious ; they knew 
that the huge danaid butterflies were good, 
safe game, if they could only catch them, and 
that a slab of bark dropping from the side of 
a rotten log was sure to abound in good things 
of many different kinds ; and they had learned, 
also, the yellow -jackets, mud -wasps, woolly 
worms, and hundred - leggers were better let 
alone. 

It was now July, the Moon of Berries. The 
chicks had grown and flourished amazingly 
during this last month, and were now so large 
that in her efforts to cover them the mother 
was kept standing all night. 

They took their daily dust-bath, but of late 
had changed to another higher on the hill. It 
was one in use by many different birds, and at 
first the mother disliked the idea of such a 
second-hand bath. But the dust was of such 
a fine, agreeable quality, and the children led 
the way with such enthusiasm, that she forgot 
her mistrust. 

After a fortnight the little ones began to 
droop and she herself did not feel very well. 



42 Redruff 

They were always hungry, and though they 
ate enormously, they one and all grew thinner 
and thinner. The mother was the last to be 
affected. But when it came, it came as hard 
on her — a ravenous hunger, a feverish head- 
ache, and a wasting weakness. She never 
knew the cause. She could not know that the 
dust of the much-used dust-bath, that her true 
instinct taught her to mistrust at first, and now 
again to shun, was sown with parasitic worms, 
and that all of the family were infested. 

No natural impulse is without a purpose. 
The mother-bird's knowledge of healing was 
only to follow natural impulse. The eager, 
feverish craving for something, she knew not 
what, led her to eat, or try, everything that 
looked eatable and to seek the coolest woods. 
And there she found a deadly sumach laden 
with its poison fruit. A month ago she would 
have passed it by, but now she tried the un- 
attractive berries. The acrid burning juice 
seemed to answer some strange demand of her 
body ; she ate and ate, and all her family 
joined in the strange feast of physic. No hu- 
man doctor could have hit it better ; it proved 
a biting, drastic purge, the dreadful secret foe 
was downed, the danger passed. But not for 
all — Nature, the old nurse, had come too late 



Redruff 43 

for two of them. The weakest, by inexorable 
law, dropped out. Enfeebled by the disease, 
the remedy was too severe for them. They 
drank and drank by the stream, and next 
morning did not move when the others fol- 
lowed the mother. Strange vengeance was 
theirs now, for a skunk, the same that could 
have told where Runtie went, found and de- 
voured their bodies and died of the poison 
they had eaten. 

Seven little partridges now obeyed the 
mother's call. Their individual characters 
were early shown and now developed fast. 
The weaklings were gone, but there was still 
a fool and a lazy one. The mother could not 
help caring for some more than for others, and 
her favorite was the biggest, he who once sat 
on the yellow chip for concealment. He was 
not only the biggest, strongest, and hand- 
somest of the brood, the best of all, the most 
obedient. His mother's warning ' rrrrr' (dan- 
ger) did not always keep the others from a 
risky path or a doubtful food, but obedience 
seemed natural to him, and he never failed to 
respond to her soft ' K-reet ' (Come), and of 
this obedience he reaped the reward, for his 
days were longest in the land. 

August, the Molting Moon, went by ; the 



44 Redruff 

young ones were now three parts grown. They 
knew just enough to think themselves wonder- 
fully wise. When they were small it was nec- 
essary to sleep on the ground so their mother 
could shelter them, but now they were too big 
to need that, and the mother began to introduce 
grown-up ways of life. It was time to roost in 
the trees. The young weasels, foxes, skunks, 
and minks were beginning to run. The ground 
grew more dangerous each night, so at sundown 
Mother Partridge called * K-reet, y and flew into 
a thick, low tree. 

The little ones followed, except one, an obsti- 
nate little fool who persisted in sleeping on the 
ground as heretofore. It was all right that 
time, but the next night his brothers were 
awakened by his cries. There was a slight 
scuffle, then stillness, broken only by a horrid 
sound of crunching bones and a smacking of 
lips. They peered down into the terrible dark- 
ness below, where the glint of two close-set eyes 
and a peculiar musty smell told them that a 
mink was the killer of their fool brother. 

Six little partridges now sat in a row at night, 
with their mother in the middle, though it was 
not unusual for some little one with cold feet to 
perch on her back. 

Their education went on, and about this time 



Redruff 45 

they were taught ' whirring.' A partridge can 
rise on the wing silently if it wishes, but whir- 
ring is so important at times that all are taught 
how and when to rise on thundering wings. 
Many ends are gained by the whirr. It warns 
all other partridges near that danger is at hand, 
it unnerves the gunner, or it fixes the foe's at- 
tention on the whirrer, while the others sneak 
off in silence, or by squatting, escape notice. 

A partridge adage might well be ' foes and 
food for every moon.' September came, with 
seeds and grain in place of berries and ant-eggs, 
and gunners in place of skunks and minks. 

The partridges knew well what a fox was, 
but had scarcely seen a dog. A fox they knew 
they could easily baffle by taking to a tree, but 
when in the Gunner Moon old Cuddy came 
prowling through the ravine with his bob-tailed 
yellow cur, the mother spied the dog and cried 
out l Kwit! Kwitr (Fly, fly). Two of the 
brood thought it a pity their mother should 
lose her wits so easily over a fox, and were 
pleased to show their superior nerve by spring- 
ing into a tree in spite of her earnestly repeated 
1 Kwit ! Kwit/ y and her example of speeding 
away on silent wings. 

Meanwhile, the strange bob-tailed fox came 
under the tree and yapped and yapped at them. 



46 Redruff 

They were much amused at him and at their 
mother and brothers, so much so that they 
never noticed a rustling in the bushes till there 
was a loud Bang! bang! and down fell two 
bloody, flopping partridges, to be seized and 
mangled by the yellow cur until the gunner ran 
from the bushes and rescued the remains. 



in 

Cuddy lived in a wretched shanty near the 
Don, north of Toronto. His was what Greek 
philosophy would have demonstrated to be an 
ideal existence. He had no wealth, no taxes, 
no social pretensions, and no property to speak 
of. His life was made up of a very little work 
and a great deal of play, with as much out-door 
life as he chose. He considered himself a true 
sportsman because he was ' fond o' huntin',' and 
1 took a sight o' comfort out of seein' the critters 
hit the mud ' when his gun was fired. The 
neighbors called him a squatter, and looked on 
him merely as an anchored tramp. He shot 
and trapped the year round, and varied his 
game somewhat with the season perforce, but 
had been heard to remark he could tell the 
month by the 'taste o' the patridges,' if he 
didn't happen to know by the almanac. This, 






Redruff 47 

no doubt, showed keen observation, but was 
also unfortunate proof of something not so 
creditable. The lawful season for murdering 
partridges began September 15th, but there was 
nothing surprising in Cuddy's being out a fort- 
night ahead of time. Yet he managed to es- 
cape punishment year after year, and even con- 
trived to pose in a newspaper interview as an 
interesting character. 

He rarely shot on the wing, preferring to pot 
his birds, which was not easy to do when the 
leaves were on, and accounted for the brood in 
the third ravine going so long unharmed ; but 
the near prospect of other gunners finding them 
now, had stirred him to go after ' a mess of 
birds.' He had heard no roar of wings when 
the mother-bird led off her four survivors, so 
pocketed the two he had killed and returned 
to the shanty. 

The little grouse thus learned that a dog is 
not a fox, and must be differently played ; and 
an old lesson was yet more deeply graven — 
1 Obedience is long life.' 

The rest of September was passed in keeping 
quietly out of the way of gunners as well as 
some old enemies. They still roosted on the 
long, thin branches of the hardwood trees among 
the thickest leaves, which protected them from 



48 Redruff 

foes in the air ; the height saved them from foes 
on the ground, and left them nothing to fear 
but coons, whose slow, heavy tread on the lim- 
ber boughs never failed to give them timely 
warning. But the leaves were falling now — 
every month its foes and its food. This was 
nut time, and it was owl time, too. Barred 
owls coming down from the north doubled or 
trebled the owl population. The nights were 
getting frosty and the coons less dangerous, so 
the mother changed the place of roosting to the 
thickest foliage of a hemlock-tree. 

Only one of the brood disregarded the warn- 
ing ' Kreet, kreet! He stuck to his swinging 
elm-bough, now nearly naked, and a great yel- 
low-eyed owl bore him off before morning. 

Mother and three young ones now were left, 
but they were as big as she was ; indeed one, 
the eldest, he of the chip, was bigger. Their 
ruffs had begun to show. Just the tips, to tell 
what they would be like when grown, and not 
a little proud they were of them. 

The ruff is to the partridge what the train is 
to the peacock — his chief beauty and his pride. 
A hen's ruff is black with a slight green gloss. 
A cock's is much larger and blacker and is 
glossed with more vivid bottle-green. Once in 
a while a partridge is born of unusual size and 



Redruff 49 

vigor, whose ruff is not only larger, but by 
a peculiar kind of intensification is of a deep 
coppery red, iridescent with violet, green, and 
gold. Such a bird is sure to be a wonder to 
all who know him, and the little one who had 
squatted on the chip, and had always done what 
he was told, developed before the Acorn Moon 
had changed, into all the glory of a gold and 
copper ruff — for this was Redruff, the famous 
partridge of the Don Valley. 



IV 

One day late in the Acorn Moon, that is, 
about mid-October, as the grouse family were 
basking with full crops near a great pine log 
on the sunlit edge of the beaver-meadow, they 
heard the far-away bang of a gun, and Redruff, 
acting on some impulse from within, leaped 
on the log, strutted up and down a couple of 
times, then, yielding to the elation of the 
bright, clear, bracing air, he whirred his wings 
in loud defiance. Then, giving fuller vent to 
this expression of vigor, just as a colt frisks to 
show how well he feels, he whirred yet more 
loudly, until, unwittingly, he found himself 
drumming, and tickled with the discovery of his 
new power, thumped the air again and again till 



50 Redruff 

he filled the near woods with the loud tattoo of 
the fully grown cock-partridge. His brother 
and sister heard and looked on with admiration 
and surprise ; so did his mother, but from that 
time she began to be a little afraid of him. 

In early November comes the moon of a 
weird foe. By a strange law of nature, not 
wholly without parallel among mankind, all 
partridges go crazy in the November moon of 
their first year. They become possessed of a 
mad hankering to get away somewhere, it does 
not matter much where. And the wisest of 
them do all sorts of foolish things at this period. 
They go drifting, perhaps, at speed over the 
country by night, and are cut in two by wires, 
or dash into lighthouses, or locomotive head- 
lights. Daylight finds them in all sorts of 
absurd places, in buildings, in open marshes, 
perched on telephone wires in a great city, or 
even on board of coasting vessels. The craze 
seems to be a relic of a bygone habit of migra- 
tion, and it has at least one good effect, it 
breaks up the families and prevents the constant 
intermarrying, which would surely be fatal to 
their race. It always takes the young badly 
their first year, and they may have it again the 
second fall, for it is very catching ; but in the 
third season it is practically unknown. 



Redruff 5 1 

RedrufTs mother knew it was coming as 
soon as she saw the frost grapes blackening, 
and the maples shedding their crimson and 
gold. There was nothing to do but care for 
their health and keep them in the quietest part 
of the woods. 

The first sign of it came when a flock of wild 
geese went honking southward overhead. The 
young ones had never before seen such long- 
necked hawks, and were afraid of them. But 
seeing that their mother had no fear, they took 
courage, and watched them with intense inter- 
est. Was it the wild, clanging cry that moved 
them, or was it solely the inner prompting then 
come to the surface? A strange longing to 
follow took possession of each of the young 
ones. They watched those arrowy trumpeters 
fading away to the south, and sought out higher 
perches to watch them farther yet, and from 
that time things were no more the same. The 
November moon was waxing, and when it was 
full, the November madness came. 

The least vigorous of the flock were most 
affected. The little family was scattered. Red- 
ruff himself ilew on several long erratic night 
journeys. The impulse took him southward, 
but there lay the boundless stretch of Lake 
Ontario, so he turned again, and the waning of 



52 Redruff 

the Mad Moon found him once more in the 
Mud Creek Glen, but absolutely alone. 



Food grew scarce as winter wore on. Red- 
ruff clung to the old ravine and the piney sides 
of Taylor's Hill, but every month brought its 
food and its foes. The Mad Moon brought 
madness, solitude, and grapes ; the Snow Moon 
came with rosehips ; and the Stormy Moon 
brought browse of birch and silver storms that 
sheathed the woods in ice, and made it hard to 
keep one's perch while pulling off the frozen 
buds. Redruff's beak grew terribly worn with 
the work, so that even when closed there was 
still an opening through behind the hook. But 
nature had prepared him for the slippery foot- 
ing ; his toes, so slim and trim in September, 
had sprouted rows of sharp, horny points, and 
these grew with the growing cold, till the first 
snow had found him fully equipped with snow- 
shoes and ice-creepers. The cold weather had 
driven away most of the hawks and owls, and 
made it impossible for his four-footed enemies 
to approach unseen, so that things were nearly 
balanced. 

His flight in search of food had daily led him 



Redruff 53 

farther on, till he had discovered and explored 
the Rosedale Creek, with its banks of silver- 
birch, and Castle Frank, with its grapes and 
rowan berries, as well as Chester woods, where 
amelanchier and Virginia-creeper swung their 
fruit-bunches, and checkerberries glowed be- 
neath the snow. 

He soon found out that for some strange 
reason men with guns did not go within the 
high fence of Castle Frank. So among these 
scenes he lived his life, learning new places, 
new foods, and grew wiser and more beautiful 
every day. 

He was quite alone so far as kindred were 
concerned, but that scarcely seemed a hardship. 
Wherever he went he could see the jolly chick- 
adees scrambling merrily about, and he remem- 
bered the time when they had seemed such 
big, important creatures. They were the most 
absurdly cheerful things in the woods. Before 
the autumn was fairly over they had begun to 
sing their famous refrain, ' Spring Soon' and 
kept it up with good heart more or less all 
through the winter's direst storms, till at length 
the waning of the Hungry Moon, our February, 
seemed really to lend some point to the ditty, 
and they redoubled their optimistic announce- 
ment to the world in an ' I-told-you-so ' mood. 



54 Redruff 

Soon good support was found, for the sun 
gained strength and melted the snow from the 
southern slope of Castle Frank Hill, and ex- 
posed great banks of fragrant wintergreen, 
whose berries were a bounteous feast for Red- 
ruff, and, ending the hard work of pulling 
frozen browse, gave his bill the needed chance 
to grow into its proper shape again. Very 
soon the first bluebird came flying over and 
warbled as he flew ' The spring is coming! The 
sun kept gaining, and early one day in the dark 
of the Wakening Moon of March there was a 
loud ' Caw, caw, and old Silverspot, the king- 
crow, came swinging along from the south at 
the head of his troops and officially announced 

1 THE SPRING HAS COME.' 

All nature seemed to respond to this, the 
opening of the birds' New Year, and yet it was 
something within that chiefly seemed to move 
them. The chickadees went simply wild ; they 
sang their ' Spring now, spring now now — Spring 
now now,' so persistently that one wondered 
how they found time to get a living. 

And Redruff felt it thrill him through and 
through. He sprang with joyous vigor on a 
stump and sent rolling down the little valley, 



Redruff 55 

again and again, a thundering ' Thump, thump, 
thump, thunderrrrrrrrr! that wakened dull 
echoes as it rolled, and voiced his gladness in 
the coming of the spring. 

Away down the valley was Cuddy's shanty. 
He heard the drum-call on the still morning 
air and 'reckoned there was a cock patridge to 
git/ and came sneaking up the ravine with his 
gun. But Redruff skimmed away in silence, 
nor rested till once more in Mud Creek Glen. 
And there he mounted the very log where first 
he had drummed and rolled his loud tattoo 
again and again, till a small boy who had taken 
a short cut to the mill through the woods, ran 
home, badly scared, to tell his mother he was 
sure the Indians were on the war-path, for he 
heard their war-drums beating in the glen. 

Why does a happy boy holla? Why does 
a lonesome youth sigh? They don't know 
any more than Redruff knew why every day 
now he mounted some dead log and thumped 
and thundered to the woods ; then strutted and 
admired his gorgeous blazing ruffs as they 
flashed their jew r els in the sunlight, and then 
thundered out again. Whence now came the 
strange wish for someone else to admire the 
plumes? And why had such a notion never 
come till the Pussywillow Moon? 



56 Redruff 

* Thump, thump, thunder-r-r-r-r-r-rrrr'* 
fi^a^ * Thump, thump, thunder-r-r-r-r-r-rrrr ' 

he rumbled again and again. 

Day after day he sought the favorite log, and 
a new beauty, a rose-red comb, grew out above 
^each clear, keen eye, and the clumsy snow- 
shoes were wholly shed from his feet. His ruff 
grew finer, his eye brighter, and his whole ap- 
pearance splendid to behold, as he strutted and 
flashed in the sun. But — oh ! he was so lone- 
some now. 

Yet what could he do but blindly vent his 
hankering in this daily drum-parade, till on a 
day early in loveliest May, when the trilliums 
had fringed his log with silver stars, and he had 
drummed and longed, then drummed again, his 
keen ear caught a sound, a gentle footfall in the 
brush. He turned to a statue and watched ; 
he knew he had been watched. Could it be 
possible ? Yes ! there it was — a form — another 
— a shy little lady grouse, now bashfully seek- 
ing to hide. In a moment he was by her side. 
His whole nature swamped by a new feeling — 
burnt up with thirst — a cooling spring in sight. 
And how he spread and flashed his proud array ! 
How came he to know that that would please ? 
He puffed his plumes and contrived to stand 
just right to catch the sun, and strutted and 



Redruff 57 

uttered a low, soft chuckle that must have been 
just as good as the ' sweet nothings ' of another 
race, for clearly now her heart was won. Won, 
really, days ago, if only he had known. For full 
three days she had come at the loud tattoo and 
coyly admired him from afar, and felt a little 
piqued that he had not yet found her out, so close 
at hand. So it was not quite all mischance, 
perhaps, that that little stamp had caught his 
ear. But now she meekly bowed her head with 
sweet, submissive grace — the desert passed, the 
parch-burnt wanderer found the spring at last. 

Oh, those were bright, glad days in the 
lovely glen of the unlovely name. The sun 
was never so bright, and the piney air was 
balmier sweet than dreams. And that great 
noble bird came daily on his log, sometimes 
with her and sometimes quite alone, and 
drummed for very joy of being alive. But 
why sometimes alone ? Why not forever with 
his Brownie bride? Why should she stay to 
feast and play with him for hours, then take 
some stealthy chance to slip away and see him 
no more for hours or till next day, when his 
martial music from the log announced him rest- 
less for her quick return ? There was a wood- 
land mystery here he could not clear. Why 



58 Redruff 

should her stay with him grow daily less till it 
was down to minutes, and one day at last she 
never came at all. Nor the next, nor the next, 
and Redruff, wild, careered on lightning wing 
and drummed on the old log, then away up- 
stream on another log, and skimmed the hill to 
another ravine to drum and drum. But on the 
fourth day, when he came and loudly called 
her, as of old, at their earliest tryst, he heard a 
sound in the bushes, as at first, and there was 
his missing Brownie bride with ten little peep- 
ing partridges following after. 

Redruff skimmed to her side, terribly fright- 
ening the bright-eyed downlings, and was just 
a little dashed to find the brood with claims 
far stronger than his own. But he soon ac- 
cepted the change, and thenceforth joined him- 
self to the' brood, caring for them as his father 
never had for him. 

VI 

Good fathers are rare in the grouse world. 
The mother-grouse builds her nest and hatch- 
es out her young without help. She even 
hides the place of the nest from the father and 
meets him only at the drum-log and the feed- 
ing - ground, or perhaps the dusting - place, 
which is the club-house of the grouse kind. 



Redruff 59 

When Brownie's little ones came out they 
had filled her every thought, even to the for- 
getting of their splendid father. But on the 
third day, when they were strong enough, she 
had taken them with her at the father's call. 

Some fathers take no interest in their lit- 
tle ones, but Redruff joined at once to help 
Brownie in the task of rearing the brood. 
They had learned to eat and drink just as 
their father had learned long ago, and could 
toddle along, with their mother leading the 
way, while the father ranged near by or fol- 
lowed far behind. 

The very next day, as they went from the 
hill-side down toward the creek in a somewhat 
drawn-out string, like beads with a big one at 
each end, a red squirrel, peeping around a 
pine-trunk, watched the processing of down- 
lings with the Runtie straggling far in the 
rear. Redruff, yards behind, preening his 
feathers on a high log, had escaped the eye of 
the squirrel, whose strange, perverted thirst 
for birdling blood was roused at what seemed 
so fair a chance. With murderous intent to 
cut off the hindmost straggler, he made a dash. 
Brownie could not have seen him until too late, 
but Redruff did. He flew for that red-haired 
cutthroat ; his weapons were his fists, that is, 



60 Redruff 

the knob-joints of the wings, and what a blow 
he could strike ! At the first onset he struck 
the squirrel square on the end of the nose, his 
weakest spot, and sent him reeling ; he stag- 
gered and wriggled into a brush-pile, where 
he had expected to carry the little grouse, and 
there lay gasping with red drops trickling 
down his wicked snout. The partridges left 
him lying there, and what became of him they 
never knew, but he troubled them no more. 

The family went on toward the water, but a 
cow had left deep tracks in the sandy loam, 
and into one of these fell one of the chicks and 
peeped in dire distress when he found he could 
not get out. 

This was a fix. Neither old one seemed to 
know what to do, but as they trampled vainly 
round the edge, the sandy bank caved in, and, 
running down, formed a long slope, up which 
the young one ran and rejoined his brothers 
under the broad veranda of their mother's tail. 

Brownie was a bright little mother, of small 
stature, but keen of wit and sense, and was, 
night and day, alert to care for her darling 
chicks. How proudly she stepped and clucked 
through the arching woods with her dainty 
brood behind her ; how she strained her little 
brown tail almost to a half-circle to give them 




Redruff saving- Runtie. 



Redruff 61 

a broader shade, and never flinched at sight of 
any foe, but held ready to fight or fly, which- 
ever seemed the best for her Uttle ones. 

Before the chicks could fly they had a meet- 
ing with old Cuddy ; though it was June, he 
was out with his gun. Up the third ravine he 
went, and Tike, his dog, ranging ahead, came 
so dangerously near the Brownie brood that 
Redruff ran to meet him, and by the old but 
never-failing trick led him on a foolish chase 
away back down the valley of the Don. 

But Cuddy, as it chanced, came right along, 
straight for the brood, and Brownie, giving 
the signal to the children, ' Krrr, krrr ' (Hide, 
hide), ran to lead the man away just as her 
mate had led the dog. Full of a mother's de- 
voted love, and skilled in the learning of the 
woods she ran in silence till quite near, then 
sprang with a roar of wings right in his face, 
and tumbling on the leaves she shammed a 
lameness that for a moment deceived the 
poacher. But when she dragged one wing 
and whined about his feet, then slowly crawled 
away, he knew just what it meant — that it was 
all a trick to lead him from her brood, and he 
struck at her a savage blow ; but little Brownie 
was quick, she avoided the blow and limped 
behind a sapling, there to beat herself upon 



62 Redruff 

the leaves again in sore distress, and seem so 
lame that Cuddy made another try to strike 
her down with a stick. But she moved in 
time to balk him, and bravely, steadfast still to 
lead him from her helpless little ones, she flung 
herself before him and beat her gentle breast 
upon the ground, and moaned as though beg- 
ging for mercy. And Cuddy, failing again to 
strike her, raised his gun, and firing charge 
enough to kill a bear, he blew poor brave, de- 
voted Brownie into quivering, bloody rags. 

This gunner brute knew the young must be 
hiding near, so looked about to find them. But 
no one moved or peeped. He saw not one, but 
as he tramped about with heedless, hateful feet, 
he crossed and crossed again their hiding- 
ground, and more than one of the silent little 
sufferers he trampled to death, and neither 
knew nor cared. 

Redruff had taken the yellow brute away off 
down-stream, and now returned to where he 
left his mate. The murderer had gone, taking 
her remains, to be thrown to the dog. Redruff 
sought about and found the bloody spot with 
feathers, Brownie's feathers, scattered around, 
and now he knew the meaning of that shot. 

Who can tell what his horror and his mourn- 
ing were ? The outward signs were few, some 



Redruff 63 

minutes dumbly gazing at the place with down- 
cast, draggled look, and then a change at the 
thought of their helpless brood. Back to the 
hiding-place he went, and called the well-known 
1 Kreet, kreet.' Did every grave give up its lit- 
tle inmate at the magic word ? No, barely 
more than half ; six little balls of down un- 
veiled their lustrous eyes, and, rising, ran to 
meet him, but four feathered little bodies had 
found their graves indeed. Redruff called 
again and again, till he was sure that all who 
could respond had come, then led them from 
that dreadful place, far, far away up-stream, 
where barbed-wire fences and bramble thickets 
were found to offer a less grateful, but more re- 
liable, shelter. 

Here the brood grew and were trained by 
their father just as his mother had trained him; 
though wider knowledge and experience gave 
him many advantages. He knew so well the 
country round and all the feeding-grounds, and 
how to meet the ills that harass partridge-life, 
that the summer passed and not a chick was 
lost. They grew and flourished, and when the 
Gunner Moon arrived they were a fine family 
of six grown-up grouse with Redruff, splendid 
in his gleaming copper feathers, at their head. 
He had ceased to drum during the summer 



64 Redruff 

after the loss of Brownie, but drumming is to 
the partridge what singing is to the lark ; while 
it is his love-song, it is also an expression of 
exuberance born of health, and when the molt 
was over and September food and weather had 
renewed his splendid plumes and braced him 
up again, his spirits revived, and finding him- 
self one day near the old log he mounted im- 
pulsively, and drummed again and again. 

From that time he often drummed, while his 
children sat around, or one who showed his 
father's blood would mount some nearby stump 
or stone, and beat the air in the loud tattoo. 

The black grapes and the Mad Moon now 
came on. But Redruff s brood were of a vigor- 
ous stock ; their robust health meant robust 
wits, and though they got the craze, it passed 
within a week, and only three had flown away 
for good. 

Redruff, with his remaining three, was living 
in the glen when the snow came. It was light, 
flaky snow, and as the weather was not very 
cold, the family squatted for the night under 
the low, flat boughs of a cedar-tree. But next 
day the storm continued, it grew colder, and 
the drifts piled up all day. At night the snow- 
fall ceased, but the frost grew harder still, so 
Redruff, leading the family to a birch-tree above 



Redruff 65 

a deep drift, dived into the snow, and the others 
did the same. Then into the holes the wind 
blew the loose snow — their pure white bed- 
clothes, and thus tucked in they slept in com- 
fort, for the snow is a warm wrap, and the air 
passes through it easily enough for breathing. 
Next morning each partridge found a solid wail 
of ice before him from his frozen breath, but 
easily turned to one side and rose on the wing 
at Redruff's morning l Kreet, kreet, kwit. y (Come 
children, come children, fly.) 

This was the first night for them in a snow- 
drift, though it was an old story to Redruff, and 
next night they merrily dived again into bed, 
and the north wind tucked them in as before. 
But a change of weather was brewing. The 
night wind veered to the east. A fall of heavy 
flakes gave place to sleet, and that to silver 
rain. The whole wide world was sheathed in 
ice, and when the grouse awoke to quit their 
beds, they found themselves sealed in with a 
great, cruel sheet of edgeless ice. 

The deeper snow was still quite soft, and 
Redruff bored his way to the top, but there the 
hard, white sheet defied his strength. Hammer 
and struggle as he might he could make no im- 
pression, and only bruised his wings and head. 
His life had been made up of keen joys and 



66 Redruff 

dull hardships, with frequent sudden desperate 
straits, but this seemed the hardest brunt of 
all, as the slow hours wore on and found him 
weakening with his struggles, but no nearer 
to freedom. He could hear the struggling of 
his family, too, or sometimes heard them call- 
ing to him for help with their long-drawn 
plaintive ' p-e-e-e-e-e-t-e, p-e-e-e-e-e-t-e' 

They were hidden from many of their ene- 
mies, but not from the pangs of hunger, and 
when the night came down the weary prison- 
ers, worn out with hunger and useless toil, 
grew quiet in despair. At first they had been 
afraid the fox would come and find them im- 
prisoned there at his mercy, but as the second 
night went slowly by they no longer cared, and 
even wished he would come and break the 
crusted snow, and so give them at least a fight- 
ing chance for life. 

But when the fox really did come padding 
over the frozen drift, the deep-laid love of life 
revived, and they crouched in utter stillness 
till he passed. The second day was one of 
driving storm. The north wind sent his snow- 
horses, hissing and careering over the white 
earth, tossing and curling their white manes 
and kicking up more snow as they dashed on. 
The long, hard grinding of the granular snow 



Redruff 67 

seemed to be thinning the snow-crust, for 
though far from dark below, it kept on grow- 
ing lighter. Redruff had pecked and pecked 
at the under side all day, till his head ached 
and his bill was wearing blunt, but when the 
sun went down he seemed as far as ever from 
escape. The night passed like the others, ex- 
cept no fox went trotting overhead. In the 
morning he renewed his pecking, though now 
with scarcely any force, and the voices or strug- 
gles of the others were no more heard. As the 
daylight grew stronger he could see that his 
long efforts had made a brighter spot above 
him in the snow, and he continued feebly 
pecking. Outside, the storm-horses kept on 
trampling all day, the crust was really growing 
thin under their heels, and late that afternoon 
his bill went through into the open air. New 
life came with this gain, and he pecked away, 
till just before the sun went down he had made 
a hole that his head, his neck, and his ever- 
beautiful ruffs could pass. His great, broad 
shoulders were too large, but he could now 
strike downward, which gave him fourfold 
force ; the snow-crust crumbled quickly, and in 
a little while he sprang from his icy prison once 
more free. But the young ones ! Redruff flew 
to the nearest bank, hastily gathered a few red 



68 Redruff 

hips to stay his gnawing hunger, then re- 
turned to the prison-drift and clucked and 
stamped. He got only one reply, a feeble 
'peete, peete? and scratching with his sharp 
claws on the thinned granular sheet he soon 
broke through, and Graytail feebly crawled out 
of the hole. But that was all ; the others, scat- 
tered he could not tell where in the drift, made 
no reply, gave no sign of life, and he was forced 
to leave them. When the snow melted in the 
spring their bodies came to view, skin, bones, 
and feathers — nothing more. 



VII 

It was long before Redruff and Graytail fully 
recovered, but food and rest in plenty are sure 
cure-alls, and a bright, clear day in midwinter 
had the usual effect of setting the vigorous 
Redruff to drumming on the log. Was it the 
drumming, or the tell-tale tracks of their snow- 
shoes on the omnipresent snow, that betrayed 
them to Cuddy ? He came prowling again and 
again up the ravine, with dog and gun, intent 
to hunt the partridges down. They knew him 
of old, and he was coming now to know them 
well. That great copper-ruffed cock was be- 
coming famous up and down the valley. Dur- 



Redruff 69 

ing the Gunner Moon many a one had tried to 
end his splendid life, just as a worthless wretch 
of old sought fame by burning the Ephesian 
wonder of the world. But Redruff was deep 
in woodcraft. He knew just where to hide, 
and when to rise on silent wing, and when to 
squat till overstepped, then rise on thunder 
wing within a yard to shield himself at once 
behind some mighty tree-trunk and speed 
away. 

But Cuddy never ceased to follow with his 
gun that red-ruffed cock ; many a long snap- 
shot he tried, but somehow always found a tree, 
a bank, or some safe shield between, and Red- 
ruff lived and throve and drummed. 

When the Snow Moon came he moved with 
Graytail to the Castle Frank woods, where 
food was plenty as well as grand old trees. 
There was in particular, on the east slope 
among the creeping hemlocks, a splendid pine. 
It was six feet through, and its first branches 
began at the tops of the other trees. Its top 
in summer-time was a famous resort for the 
bluejay and his bride. Here, far beyond the 
reach of shot, in warm spring days the jay 
would sing and dance before his mate, spread 
his bright blue plumes and warble the sweetest 
fairyland music, so sweet and soft that few hear 



yo Redruff 

it but the one for whom it is meant, and books 
know nothing at all about it. 

This great pine had an especial interest for 
Redruff, now living near with his remaining 
young one, but its base, not its far-away crown, 
concerned him. All around were low, creep- 
ing hemlocks, and among them the partridge- 
vine and the wintergreen grew, and the sweet 
black acorns could be scratched from under the 
snow.' There was no better feeding-ground, 
for when that insatiable gunner came on them 
there it was easy to run low among the hem- 
lock to the great pine, then rise with a derisive 
whirr behind its bulk, and keeping the huge 
trunk in line with the deadly gun, skim off in 
safety. A dozen times at least the pine had 
saved them during the lawful murder season, 
and here it was that Cuddy, knowing their 
feeding habits, laid a new trap. Under the 
bank he sneaked and watched in ambush while 
an accomplice went around the Sugar Loaf to 
drive the birds. He came trampling through 
the low thicket where Redruff and Graytail 
were feeding, and long before the gunner was 
dangerously near Redruff gave a low warning 
1 rrr-rrr ' (danger) and walked quickly toward 
the great pine in case they had to rise. 

Graytail was some distance up the hill, and 



Redruff yi 

suddenly caught sight of a new foe close at 
hand, the yellow cur, coming right on. Red- 
ruff, much farther off, could not see him for the 
bushes, and Graytail became greatly alarmed. 

1 Kwit, kwit ' (Fly, fly), she cried, running 
down the hill for a start. ' Kreet, k-r-r-r* (This 
way, hide), cried the cooler Redruff, for he saw 
that now the man with the gun was getting in 
range. He gained the great trunk, and be- 
hind it, as he paused a moment to call earnest- 
ly to Graytail, ' This way, this way,' he heard 
a slight noise under the bank before him that 
betrayed the ambush, then there was a terrified 
cry from Graytail as the dog sprang at her, 
she rose in air and skimmed behind the shield- 
ing trunk, away from the gunner in the open, 
right into the power of the miserable wretch 
under the bank. 

Whirr, and up she went, a beautiful, sentient, 
noble being. 

Bang, and down she fell — battered and bleed- 
ing, to gasp her life out and to lie a rumpled 
mass of carrion in the snow. 

It was a perilous place for Redruff. There 
was no chance for a safe rise, so he squatted 
low. The dog came within ten feet of him, and 
the stranger, coming across to Cuddy, passed 
at five feet, but he never moved till a chance 



J 2 Redruff 

came to slip behind the great trunk away from 
both. Then he safely rose and flew to the 
lonely glen by Taylor's Hill. 

One by one the deadly cruel gun had strick- 
en his near ones down, till now, once more, he 
was alone. The Snow Moon slowly passed 
with many a narrow escape, and Redruff, now 
known to be the only survivor of his kind, was 
relentlessly pursued, and grew wilder every 
day. 

It seemed, at length, a waste of time to fol- 
low him with a gun, so when the snow was 
deepest, and food scarcest, Cuddy hatched a 
new plot. Right across the feeding-ground, 
almost the only good one now in the Stormy 
Moon, he set a row of snares. A cottontail 
rabbit, an old friend, cut several of these with 
his sharp teeth, but some remained, and Red- 
ruff, watching a far-off speck that might turn 
out a hawk, trod right in one of them, and in an 
instant was jerked into the air to dangle by one 
foot. 

Have the wild things no moral or legal 
rights? What right has man to inflict such 
long and fearful agony on a fellow-creature, 
simply because that creature does not speak 
his language? All that day, with growing, 
racking pains, poor Redruff hung and beat his 



Redruff 73 

great, strong wings in helpless struggles to be 
free. All day, all night, with growing torture, 
until he only longed for death. But no one 
came. The morning broke, the day wore on, 
and still he hung there, slowly dying ; his very 
strength a curse. The second night crawled 
slowly down, and when, in the dawdling hours 
of darkness, a great Horned Owl, drawn by 
the feeble flutter of a dying wing, cut short 
the pain, the deed was wholly kind. 

The wind blew down the valley from the 
north. The snow -horses went racing over 
the wrinkled ice, over the Don Flats, and over 
the marsh toward the lake, white, for they were 
driven snow, but on them, scattered dark, were 
riding plumy fragments of partridge ruffs — the 
famous rainbow ruffs. And they rode on the 
wind that night, away, away to the south, over 
the dark lake, as they rode in the gloom of his 
Mad Moon flight, riding and riding on till they 
were engulfed, the last trace of the last of the 
Don Valley race. 

For no partridge is heard in Castle Frank 
now — and in Mud Creek Ravine the old pine 
drum-log, unused, has rotted in silence away. 




RAGGYLUG 
THE STORY OF A COTTONTAIL RABBIT 



eses 







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RAGGYLUG 

THE STORY OF A COTTONTAIL 
RABBIT 

RAGGYLUG, or Rag", was the name of a 
young cottontail rabbit. It was given 
him from his torn and ragged ear, a 
life-mark that he got in his first adventure. 
He lived with his mother in Olifant's swamp, 
where I made their acquaintance and gathered, 
in a hundred different ways, the little bits of 
proof and scraps of truth that at length enabled 
me to write this history. 

Those who do not know the animals well 
may think I have humanized them, but those 
who have lived so near them as to know some- 
what of their ways and their minds will not 
think so. 

Truly rabbits have no speech as we under- 
stand it, but they have a way of conveying 
ideas by a system of sounds, signs, scents, 
whisker-touches, movements, and example that 
answers the purpose of speech ; and it must be 

77 



78 Raggylug 

remembered that though in telling this story I 
freely translate from rabbit into English, / re- 
peat nothing that they did not say. 



The rank swamp grass bent over and con- 
cealed the snug nest where Raggylug's mother 
had hidden him. She had partly covered him 
with some of the bedding, and, as always, her 
last warning was to ' lay low and say nothing, 
whatever happens.' Though tucked in bed, he 
was wide awake and his bright eyes were taking 
in that part of his little green world that was 
straight above. A bluejay and a red-squirrel, 
two notorious thieves, were loudly berating 
each other for stealing, and at one time Rag's 
home bush was the centre of their fight ; a yel- 
low warbler caught a blue butterfly but six 
inches from his nose, and a scarlet and black 
ladybug, serenely waving her knobbed feelers, 
took a long walk up one grassblade, down an- 
other, and across the nest and over Rag's face 
— and yet he never moved nor even winked. 

After awhile he heard a strange rustling of 
the leaves in the near thicket. It was an odd, 
continuous sound, and though it went this way 
and that way and came ever nearer, there was 




Mammy, Mammy ! " he screamed, in mortal terror. 



Raggylug 79 

no patter of feet with it. Rag had lived his 
whole life in the swamp (he was three weeks 
old) and yet had never heard anything like 
this. Of course his curiosity was greatly 
aroused. His mother had cautioned him to 
lay low, but that was understood to be in case 
of danger, and this strange sound without foot- 
falls could not be any to fear. 

The low rasping went past close at hand, 
then to the right, then back, and seemed going 
away. Rag felt he knew what he was about ; 
he wasn't a baby ; it was his duty to learn 
what it was. He slowly raised his roly-poly 
body on his short, fluffy legs, lifted his little 
round head above the covering of his nest and 
peeped out into the woods. The sound had 
ceased as soon as he moved. He saw nothing, 
so took one step forward to a clear view, and 
instantly found himself face to face with an 
enormous Black Serpent. 

" Mammy," he screamed in mortal terror 
as the monster darted at him. With all the 
strength of his tiny limbs he tried to run. But 
in a flash the Snake had him by one ear and 
whipped around him with his coils to gloat 
over the helpless little baby bunny he had se- 
cured for dinner. 

" Mam-my — Mam-my," gasped poor little 



80 Ruggylug 

Raggylug as the cruel monster began slowly 
choking him to death. Very soon the little 
one's cry would have ceased, but bounding 
through the woods straight as an arrow came 
Mammy. No longer a shy, helpless little 
Molly Cottontail, ready to fly from a shadow: 
the mother's love was strong in her. The cry 
of her baby had filled her with the courage of 
a hero, and — hop, she went over that horrible 
reptile. Whack, she struck down at him with 
her sharp hind claws as she passed, giving him 
such a stinging blow that he squirmed with 
pain and hissed with anger. 

" M-a-m-m-y," came feebly from the little 
one. And Mammy came leaping again and 
again and struck harder and fiercer until the 
loathsome reptile let go the little one's ear and 
tried to bite the old one as she leaped over. 
But all he got was a mouthful of wool each 
time, and Molly's fierce blows began to tell, 
as long bloody rips were torn in the Black 
Snake's scaly armor. 

Things were now looking bad for the Snake ; 
and bracing himself for the next charge, he 
lost his tight hold on Baby Bunny, who at 
once wriggled out of the coils and away into 
the underbrush, breathless and terribly fright- 
ened, but unhurt save that his left ear was 



Raggylug 81 

much torn by the teeth of that dreadful Ser- 
pent. 

Molly had now gained all she wanted. She 
had no notion of fighting for glory or revenge. 
Away she went into the woods and the little 
one followed the shining beacon of her snow- 
white tail until she led him to a safe corner of 
the Swamp. 

II 

Old Olifant's Swamp was a rough, brambly 
tract of second-growth woods, with a marshy 
pond and a stream through the middle. A 
few ragged remnants of the old forest still 
stood in it and a few of the still older trunks 
were lying about as dead logs in the brush- 
wood. The land about the pond was of that 
willow-grown, sedgy kind that cats and horses 
avoid, but that cattle do not fear. The drier 
zones were overgrown with briars and young 
trees. The outermost belt of all, that next the 
fields, was of thrifty, gummy-trunked young 
pines whose living needles in air and dead 
ones on earth offer so delicious an odor to the 
nostrils of the passer - by, and so deadly a 
breath to those seedlings that would compete 
with them for the worthless waste they grow 
on. 



82 Raggyiug 

All around for a long way were smooth 
fields, and the only wild tracks that ever 
crossed these fields were those of a thorough- 
ly bad and unscrupulous fox that lived only 
too near. 

The chief indwellers of the swamp were 
Molly and Rag. Their nearest neighbors were 
far away, and their nearest kin were dead. 
This was their home, and here they lived to- 
gether, and here Rag received the training 
that made his success in life. 

Molly was a good little mother and gave 
him a careful bringing up. The first thing he 
learned was ■ to lay low and say nothing.' His 
adventure with the snake taught him the wis- 
dom of this. Rag never forgot that lesson; 
afterward he did as he was told, and it made 
the other things come more easily. 

The second lesson he learned was ' freeze.' 
It grows out of the first, and Rag was taught 
it as soon as he could run. 

1 Freezing ' is simply doing nothing, turning 
into a statue. As soon as he finds a foe near, 
no matter what he is doing, a well-trained Cot- 
tontail keeps just as he is and stops all move- 
ment, for the creatures of the woods are of the 
same color as the things in the woods and catch 
the eye only while moving. So when enemies 



Raggylttg 83 

chance together, the one who first sees the 
other can keep himself unseen by ' freezing ' 
and thus have all the advantage of choosing 
the time for attack or escape. Only those who 
live in the woods know the importance of this ; 
every wild creature and every hunter must 
learn it ; all learn to do it well, but not one of 
them can beat Molly Cottontail in the doing. 
Rag's mother taught him this trick by exam- 
ple. When the white cotton cushion that she 
always carried to sit on went bobbing away 
through the woods, of course Rag ran his 
hardest to keep up. But when Molly stopped 
and ' froze,' the natural wish to copy made him 
do the same. 

But the best lesson of all that Rag learned 
from his mother was the secret of the Brier- 
brush. It is a very old secret now, and to make 
it plain you must first hear why the Brierbrush 
quarrelled with the beasts. 

Long ago the Roses used to grow 011 bushes that had 
no thorns. But the Squirrels and Mice used to climb 
after them, the cattle used to kfiock them off with their 
horns, the Possum would twitch them off with his long 
tail, and the Deer, with his sharp hoofs, would break 
them down. So the Brierbrush armed itself with spikes 
to protect its roses and declared eternal war o?i all ere at- 



84 Raggylug 

u'res that climbed trees, or had horns, or hoofs, or long 
tails. This left the Brierbrush at peace with none but 
Molly Cottontail, who could not climb, was hornless, hoof- 
less and had scarcely any tail at all. 

In truth the Cottontail had never harmed a Brierrose, 
and having now so many enemies the Rose took the Rab- 
bit into especial friendship, and whe?i dangers are threat- 
ening poor Bunny he flies to the nearest Brierbrush, cer- 
tain that it is ready, with a million keen and poisoned 
daggers, to defe?id him. 

So the secret that Rag learned from his 
mother was, ' The Brierbrush is your best 
friend.' 

Much of the time that season was spent in 
learning the lay of the land, and the bramble 
and brier mazes. And Rag learned them so 
well that he could go all around the swamp by 
two different ways and never leave the friendly 
briers at any place for more than five hops. 

It is not long since the foes of the Cotton- 
tails were disgusted to find that man had 
brought a new kind of bramble and planted it 
in long lines throughout the country. It was 
so strong that no creatures could break it 
down, and so sharp that the toughest skin was 
torn by it. Each year there was more of it and 
each year it became a more serious matter to 



Raggylug 85 

the wild creatures. But Molly Cottontail had 
no fear of it. She was not brought up in the 
briers for nothing. Dogs and foxes, cattle and 
sheep, and even man himself might be torn by 
those fearful spikes : but Molly understands it 
and lives and thrives under it. And the fur- 
ther it spreads the more safe country there is 
for the Cottontail. And the name of this new 
and dreaded bramble is — the barbed-wire fence. 



Ill 

Molly had no other children to look after 
now, so Rag had all her care. He was unusu- 
ally quick and bright as well as strong, and he 
had uncommonly good chances ; so he got on 
remarkably well. 

All the season she kept him busy learning the 
tricks of the trail, and what to eat and drink 
and what not to touch. Day by day she 
worked to train him ; little by little she taught 
him, putting into his mind hundreds of ideas 
that her own life or early training had stored 
in hers, and so equipped him with the knowl- 
edge that makes life possible to their kind. 

Close by her side in the clover-field or the 
thicket he would sit and copy her when she 
wobbled her nose * to keep her smeller clear,' 



86 Raggylug 

and pull the bite from her mouth or taste her 
lips to make sure he was getting the same kind 
of fodder. Still copying her, he learned to 
comb his ears with his claws and to dress his 
coat and to bite the burrs out of his vest and 
socks. He learned, too, that nothing but clear 
dewdrops from the briers were fit for a rabbit 
to drink, as water which has once touched the 
earth must surely bear some taint. Thus he 
began the study of woodcraft, the oldest of all 
sciences. 

As soon as Rag was big enough to go out 
alone, his mother taught him the signal code. 
Rabbits telegraph each other by thumping on 
the ground with their hind feet. Along the 
ground sound carries far : a thump that at six 
feet from the earth is not heard at twenty yards 
will, near the ground, be heard at least one 
hundred yards. Rabbits have very keen hear- 
ing, and so might hear this same thump at 
two hundred yards, and that would reach from 
end to end of Olifant's Swamp. A single 
thump means 'look out' or 'freeze.' A slow 
thump thump means ' come.' A fast thump thump 
means ' danger ; ' and a very fast thump thump 
thump means ' run for dear life.' 

At another time, when the weather was fine 
and the bluejays were quarrelling among them- 



Raggylug 87 

selves, a sure sign that no dangerous foe was 
about, Rag began a new study. Molly, by 
flattening her ears, gave the sign to squat. 
Then she ran far away in the thicket and gave 
the thumping signal for ' come.' Rag set out 
at a run to the place but could not find Molly. 
He thumped, but got no reply. Setting care- 
fully about his search he found. her foot-scent, 
and following this strange guide, that the beasts 
all know so well and man does not know at all, 
he worked out the trail and found her where 
she was hidden. Thus he got his first lesson in 
trailing, and thus it was that the games of hide 
and seek they played became the schooling for 
the serious chase of which there was so much 
in his after-life. 

Before that first season of schooling was over 
he had learnt all the principal tricks by which 
a rabbit lives, and in not a few problems showed 
himself a veritable genius. 

He was an adept at 'tree/ 'dodge,' and 
' squat;' he could play 'log-lump ' with ' wind,' 
and ' baulk ' with ' back-track ' so well that he 
scarcely needed any other tricks. He had not 
yet tried it, but he knew just how to play 
'barb -wire,' which is a new trick of the brill- 
iant order; he had made a special study of 
* sand,' which burns up all scent, and he was 



88 Raggylug 

deeply versed in 'change-off,' ' fence,' and 
1 double,' as well as ' hole-up,' which is a trick 
requiring longer notice, and yet he never for- 
got that ' lay-low ' is the beginning of all wis- 
dom and ' brierbrush ' the only trick that is 
always safe. 

He was taught the signs by which to know 
all his foes and then the way to baffle them. 
For hawks, owls, foxes, hounds, curs, minks, 
weasels, cats, skunks, coons, and men, each 
have a different plan of pursuit, and for 
each and all of these evils he was taught 
a remedy. 

And for knowledge of the enemy's approach 
he learnt to depend first on himself and his 
mother, and then on the bluejay. "Never neg- 
lect the bluejay's warning," said Molly; " he is 
a mischief-maker, a marplot, and a thief all the 
time, but nothing escapes him. He wouldn't 
mind harming us, but he cannot, thanks to the 
briers, and his enemies are ours, so it is well to 
heed him. If the woodpecker cries a warning 
you can trust him, he is honest; but he is a fool 
beside the bluejay, and though the bluejay of- 
ten tells lies for mischief you are safe to believe 
him when he brings ill news." 

The barbed-wire trick takes a deal of nerve 
and the best of legs. It was long before Rag 



Raggylug 89 

ventured to play it, but as he came to his full 
powers it became one of his favorites. 

" It's fine play for those who can do it," said 
Molly. " First you lead off your dog on a 
straightaway and warm him up a bit by nearly 
letting him catch you. Then keeping just one 
hop ahead, you lead him at a long slant full tilt 
into a breast-high barb-wire. I've seen many a 
dog and fox crippled, and one big hound killed 
outright this way. But I've also seen more 
than one rabbit lose his life in trying it." 

Rag early learnt what some rabbits never 
learn at all, that * hole-up ' is not such a fine 
ruse as it seems ; it may be the certain safety of 
a wise rabbit, but soon or late is a sure death- 
trap to a fool. A young rabbit always thinks 
of it first, an old rabbit never tries it till all 
others fail. It means escape from a man or 
dog, a fox or a bird of prey, but it means sud- 
den death if the foe is a ferret, mink, skunk, or 
weasel. 

There were but two ground-holes in the 
Swamp. One on the Sunning Bank, which 
was a dry sheltered knoll in the South-end. It 
was open and sloping to the sun, and here on 
fine days the Cottontails took their sunbaths. 
They stretched out among the fragrant pine 
needles and winter-green in odd, cat-like posi- 



9 o Raggylug 

tions, and turned slowly over as though roast- 
ing and wishing all sides well done. And they 
blinked and panted, and squirmed as if in 
dreadful pain; yet this was one of the keenest 
enjoyments they knew. 

Just over the brow of the knoll was a large 
pine stump. Its grotesque roots wriggled out 
above the yellow sand-bank like dragons, and 
under their protecting claws a sulky old wood- 
chuck had digged a den long ago. He became 
more sour and ill-tempered as weeks went by, 
and one day waited to quarrel with Olifant's 
dog instead of going in, so that Molly Cotton- 
tail was able to take possession of the' den an 
hour later. 

This, the pine-root hole, was afterward very 
coolly taken by a self-sufficient young skunk, 
who with less valor might have enjoyed greater 
longevity, for he imagined that even man with 
a gun would fly from him. Instead of keeping 
Molly from the den for good, therefore, his 
reign, like that of a certain Hebrew king, was 
over in four days. 

The other, the fern-hole, was in a fern thicket 
next the clover field. It was small and damp, 
and useless except as a last retreat. It also was 
the work of a woodchuck, a well-meaning, 
friendly neighbor, but a hare-brained young- 



Raggylug 91 

ster whose skin in the form of a whip-lash was 
now developing higher horse-power in the Oli- 
fant working team. 

" Simple justice," said the old man, "for that 
hide was raised on stolen feed that the team 
would V turned into horse-power anyway.'' 

The Cottontails were now sole owners of the 
holes, and did not go near them when they 
could help it, lest anything like a path should 
be made that might betray these last retreats 
to an enemy. 

There was also the hollow hickory, which, 
though nearly fallen, was still green, and had 
the great advantage of being open at both*ends. 
This had long been the residence of one Lotor, 
a solitary old coon whose ostensible calling was 
frog-hunting, and who, like the monks of old, 
was supposed to abstain from all flesh food. 
But it was shrewdly suspected that he needed 
but a chance to indulge in a diet of rabbit. 
When at last one dark night he was killed 
while raiding Olifant's hen-house, Molly, so far 
from feeling a pang of regret, took possession 
of his cosy nest with a sense of unbounded 
relief. 



9 2 Raggylug 

IV 

Bright August sunlight was flooding the 
Swamp in the morning. Everything seemed 
soaking in the warm radiance. A little brown 
swamp-sparrow was teetering on a long rush in 
the pond. Beneath him there were open spaces 
of dirty water that brought down a few scraps 
of the blue sky, and worked it and the yellow 
duckweed into an exquisite mosaic, with a little 
wrong-side picture of the bird in the middle, 
On the bank behind was a great vigorous 
growth of golden green skunk-cabbage, that 
cast a dense shadow over the brown swamp 
tussocks. 

The eyes of the swamp-sparrow were not 
trained to take in the color glories, but he saw 
what we might have missed ; that two of the 
numberless leafy brown bumps under the 
broad cabbage-leaves were furry, living things, 
with noses that never ceased to move up and 
down whatever else was still. 

It was Molly and Rag. They were stretched 
under the skunk-cabbage, not because they 
liked its rank smell, but because the winged ticks 
could not stand it at all and so left them in peace. 

Rabbits have no set time for lessons, they 
are always learning ; but what the lesson is de- 



Raggylug 93 

pends on the present stress, and that must ar- 
rive before it is known. They went to this 
place for a quiet rest, but had not been long 
there when suddenly a warning note from the 
ever-watchful bluejay caused Molly's nose and 
ears to go up and her tail to tighten to her 
back. Away across the Swamp was Olifant's 
big black and white dog, coming straight 
toward them. 

" Now," said Molly, " squat while I go and 
keep that fool out of mischief." Away she 
went to meet him and she fearlessly dashed 
across the dog's path. 

"Bow-ow-ow," he fairly yelled as he bounded 
after Molly, but she kept just beyond his reach 
and led him where the million daggers struck 
fast and deep, till his tender ears were scratched 
raw, and guided him at last plump into a hid- 
den barbed-wire fence, where he got such a 
gashing that he went homeward howling with 
pain. After making a short double, a loop and 
a baulk in case the dog should come back, 
Molly returned to find that Rag in his eager- 
ness was standing bolt upright and craning his 
neck to see the sport. 

This disobedience made her so angry that 
she struck him with her hind foot and knocked 
him over in the mud. 



94 Raggylug 

One day as they fed on the near clover field 
a red-tailed hawk came swooping after them. 
Molly kicked up her hind legs to make fun of 
him and skipped into the briers along one of 
their old pathways, where of course the hawk 
could not follow. It was the main path from 
the Creekside Thicket to the Stove-pipe brush- 
pile. Several creepers had grown across it, 
and Molly, keeping one eye on the hawk, set 
to work and cut the creepers off. Rag watched 
her, then ran on ahead, and cut some more that 
were across the path. " That's right," said 
Molly, "always keep the runways clear, you 
will need them often enough. Not wide, but 
clear. Cut everything like a creeper across 
them and some day you will find you have cut 
a snare. " A what ? " asked Rag, as he scratched 
his right ear with his left hind foot. 

" A snare is something that looks like a 
creeper, but it doesn't grow and it's worse 
than all the hawks in the world," said Molly, 
glancing at the now far-away red-tail, " for 
there it hides night and day in the runway till 
the chance to catch you comes." 

" I don't believe it could catch me," said 
Rag, with the pride of youth as he rose on his 
heels to rub his chin and whiskers high up on 
a smooth sapling. Rag did not know he was 



Raggylug 95 

doing this, but his mother saw and knew it was 
a sign, like the changing of a boy's voice, that 
her little one was no longer a baby but would 
soon be a grown-up Cottontail. 



v 

There is magic in running water. Who 
does not know it and feel it? The railroad 
builder fearlessly throws his bank across the 
wide bog or lake, or the sea itself, but the 
tiniest rill of running water he treats with 
great respect, studies its wish and its way and 
gives it all it seems to ask. The thirst-parched 
traveller in the poisonous alkali deserts holds 
back in deadly fear from the sedgy ponds till 
he finds one down whose centre is a thin, clear 
line, and a faint flow, the sign of running, living 
water, and joyfully he drinks. 

There is magic in running water, no evil 
spell can cross it. Tarn O'Shanter proved its 
potency in time of sorest need. The wild- 
wood creature with its deadly foe following 
tireless on the trail scent, realizes its nearing 
doom and feels an awful spell. Its strength is 
spent, its every trick is tried in vain till the 
good Angel leads it to the water, the running, 
living water, and dashing in it follows the cool- 



9 6 Raggyiug 

ing stream, and then with force renewed takes 
to the woods again. 

There is magic in running water. The 
hounds come to the very spot and halt and 
cast about; and halt and cast in vain. Their 
spell is broken by the merry stream, and the 
wild thing lives its life. 

And this was one of the great secrets that 
Raggylug learned from his mother — " after the 
Brierrose, the Water is your friend." 

One hot, muggy night in August, Molly led 
Rag through the woods. The cotton-white 
cushion she wore under her tail twinkled ahead 
and was his guiding lantern, though it went out 
as soon as she stopped and sat on it. After a 
few runs and stops to listen, they came to the 
edge of the pond. The hylas in the trees above 
them were singing ' sleep, sleep' and away out 
on a sunken log in the deep water, up to his 
chin in the cooling bath, a bloated bullfrog was 
singing the praises of a 'jug o rum' 

''Follow me > still," said Molly, in rabbit, 
and ' flop ' she went into the pond and struck 
out for the sunken log in the middle. Rag 
flinched but plunged with a little ' ouch,' 
gasping and wobbling his nose very fast but 
still copying his mother. The same move- 
ments as on land sent him through the water, 



Raggylug 97 

and thus he found he could swim. On he went 
till he reached the sunken log and scrambled 
up by his dripping mother on the high dry end, 
with a rushy screen around them and the Water 
that tells no tales. After this in warm, black 
nights, when that old fox from Springfield came 
prowling through the Swamp, Rag would note 
the place of the bullfrog's voice, for in case of 
direst need it might be a guide to safety. And 
thenceforth the words of the song that the 
bullfrog sang were, ' Come, come, in danger come.' 
This was the latest study that Rag took up 
with his mother — it was really a post-graduate 
course, for many little rabbits never learn it at 
all. 

VI 

No wild animal dies of old age. Its life has 
soon or late a tragic end. It is only a question 
of how long it can hold Qut against its foes. 
But Rag's life was proof that once a rabbit 
passes out of his youth he is likely to outlive 
his prime and be killed only in the last third of 
life, the downhill third we call old age. 

The Cottontails had enemies on every side. 
Their daily life was a series of escapes. For 
dogs, foxes, cats, skunks, coons, weasels, minks, 
snakes, hawks, owls, and men, and even insects 



98 Raggylug 

were all plotting- to kill them. They had hun- 
dreds of adventures, and at least once a day 
they had to fly for their lives and save them- 
selves by their legs and wits. 

More than once that hateful fox from Spring- 
field drove them to taking refuge under the 
wreck of a barbed-wire hog-pen by the spring. 
But once there they could look calmly at him 
while he spiked his legs in vain attempts to 
reach them. 

Once or twice Rag when hunted had played 
off the hound against a skunk that had seemed 
likely to be quite as dangerous as the dog. 

Once he was caught alive by a hunter who 
had a hound and a ferret to help him. But 
Rag had the luck to escape next day, with a 
yet deeper distrust of ground holes. He was 
several times run into the water by the cat, and 
many times was chased by hawks and owls, but 
for each kind of danger there was a safeguard. 
His mother taught him the principal dodges, 
and he improved on them and made many new 
ones as he grew older. And the older and wiser 
he grew the less he trusted to his legs, and the 
more to his wits for safety. 

Ranger was the name of a young hound in 
the neighborhood. To train him his master 
used to put him on the trail of one of the Cot- 



Raggylug 99 

tontails. It was nearly always Rag that they 
ran, for the young buck enjoyed the runs as 
much as they did, the spice of danger in them 
being just enough for zest. He would say : 

" Oh, mother ! here comes the dog again, I 
must have a run to-day." 

""You are too bold, Raggy, my son!" she 
might reply. " I fear you will run once too 
often." 

" But, mother, it is such glorious fun to tease 
that fool dog, and it's all good training. I'll 
thump if I am too hard pressed, then you can 
come and change off while I get my second 
wind." 

On he would come, and Ranger would take 
the trail and follow till Rag got tired of it. 
Then he either sent a thumping telegram for 
help, which brought Molly to take charge of 
the dog, or he got rid of the dog by some clever 
trick. A description of one of these shows how 
well Rag had learned the arts of the woods. 

He knew that his scent lay best near the 
ground, and was strongest when he was warm. 
So if he could get off the ground, and be left 
in peace for half an hour to cool off, and for the 
trail to stale, he knew he would be safe. When, 
therefore, he tired of the chase, he made for 
the Creekside brier-patch, where he ' wound ' 



ioo Raggylug 

— that .s, zigzagged — till he left a course so 
crooked that the dog was sure to be greatly 
delayed in working it out. He then went 
straight to D in the woods, passing one hop to 
windward of the high log E. Stopping at D, he 
followed his back trail to F, here he leaped 
aside and ran toward G. Then, returning on 
his trail to J, he waited till the hound passed on 
his trail at I. Rag then got back on his old 



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trail at H, and followed it to E, where, with a 
scent-baulk or great leap aside, he reached the 
high log, and running to its higher end, he sat 
like a bump. 

Ranger lost much time in the bramble maize, 
and the scent was very poor when he got it 
straightened out and came to D. Here he began 
to circle to pick it up, and after losing much 
time, struck the trail which ended suddenly at 



Raggylug ioi 

G. Again he was at fault, and had to circle to 
find the trail. Wider and wider the circles, 
until at last, he passed right under the log Rag 
was on. But a cold scent, on a cold day, does 
not go downward much. Rag never budged 
nor winked, and the hound passed. 

Again the dog came round. This time he 
crossed the low part of the log, and stopped to 
smell it. ' Yes, clearly it was rabbity,' but it 
was a stale scent now ; still he mounted the log. 

It was a trying moment for Rag, as the great 
hound came sniff-sniffing along the log. But 
his nerve did not forsake him ; the wind was 
right; he had his mind made up to bolt as 
soon as Ranger came half way up. But he 
didn't come. A yellow cur would have seen 
the rabbit sitting there, but the hound did not, 
and the scent seemed stale, so he leaped off the 
log, and Rag had won. 



VII 



Rag had never seen any other rabbit than 
his mother. Indeed he had scarcely thought 
about there being any other. He was more 
and more away from her now, and yet he never 
felt lonely, for rabbits do not hanker for com- 



102 Ruggyiug 

pany. But one day in December, while he was 
among the red dogwood brush, cutting a new 
path to the great Creekside thicket, he saw all 
at once against the sky over the Sunning Bank 
the head and ears of a strange rabbit. The 
new-comer had the air of a well-pleased discov- 
erer and soon came hopping Rag's way along 
one of his paths into his Swamp. A new feel- 
ing rushed over him, that boiling mixture of 
anger and hatred called jealousy. 

The stranger stopped at one of Rag's rub- 
bing-trees — that is, a tree against which he used 
to stand on his heels and rub his chin as far up 
as he could reach. He thought he did this 
simply because he liked it; but all buck-rabbits 
do so, and several ends are served. It makes 
the tree rabbity, so that other rabbits know 
that this swamp already belongs to a rabbit 
family and is not open for settlement. It also 
lets the next one know by the scent if the last 
caller was an acquaintance, and the height from 
the ground of the rubbing-places shows how 
tall the rabbit is. 

Now to his disgust Rag noticed that the new- 
comer was a head taller than himself, and a big, 
stout buck at that. This was a wholly new ex- 
perience and filled Rag with a wholly new feel- 
ing. The spirit of murder entered his heart ; 



Raggylug 103 

he chewed very hard with nothing in his mouth, 
and hopping forward onto a smooth piece of 
hard ground he struck slowly: 

1 Thump — thump — thump J which is a rabbit 
telegram for ' Get out of my swamp, or fight.' 

The new-comer made a big V with his ears, 
sat upright for a few seconds, then, dropping 
on his fore-feet, sent along the ground a louder, 
stronger, ' Thump — thump — thump? 

And so war was declared. 

They came together by short runs sidewise, 
each one trying to get the wind of the other 
and watching for a chance advantage. The 
stranger was a big, heavy buck with plenty of 
muscle, but one or two trifles such as treading 
on a turnover and failing to close when Rag 
was on low ground showed that he had not 
much cunning and counted on winning his 
battles by his weight. On he came at last and 
Rag met him like a little fury. As they came 
together they leaped up and struck out with 
their hind feet. Thud, thud they came, and 
down went poor little Rag. In a moment the 
stranger was on him with his teeth and Rag 
was bitten, and lost several tufts of hair before 
he could get up. But he was swift of foot and 
got out of reach. Again he charged and again 
he was knocked down and bitten severely. 



104 Raggylug 

He was no match for his foe, and it soon be- 
came a question of saving his own life. 

Hurt as he was he sprang away, with the 
stranger in full chase, and bound to kill him as 
well as to oust him from the Swamp where he 
was born. Rag's legs were good and so was 
his wind. The stranger was big and so heavy 
that he soon gave up the chase, and it was well 
for poor Rag that he did, for he was getting 
stiff from his wounds as well as tired. From 
that day began a reign of terror for Rag. His 
training had been against owls, dogs, weasels, 
men, and so on, but what to do when chased 
by another rabbit, he did not know. All he 
knew was to lay low till he was found, then 
run. 

Poor little Molly was completely terrorized ; 
she could not help Rag and sought only to 
hide. But the big buck soon found her out. 
She tried to run from him, but she was not 
now so swift as Rag. The stranger made no 
attempt to kill her, but he made love to her, 
and because she hated him and tried to get 
away, he treated her shamefully. Day after 
day he worried her by following her about, 
and often, furious at her lasting hatred, he 
would knock her down and tear out mouthfuls 
of her soft fur till his rage cooled somewhat, 



Raggylug 105 

when he would let her go for awhile. But his 
fixed purpose was to kill Rag, whose escape 
seemed hopeless. There was no other swamp 
he could go to, and whenever he took a nap 
now he had to be ready at any moment to dash 
for his life. A dozen times a day the big 
stranger came creeping up to where he slept, 
but each time the watchful Rag awoke in time 
to escape. To escape yet not to escape. He 
saved his life indeed, but oh ! what a miserable 
life it had become. How maddening to be 
thus helpless, to see his little mother daily 
beaten and torn, as well as to see all his favor- 
ite feeding-grounds, the cosey nooks, and the 
pathways he had made with so much labor, 
forced from him by this hateful brute. Un- 
happy Rag realized that to the victor belong 
the spoils, and he hated him more than ever 
he did fox or ferret. 

How was it to end? He was wearing out 
with running and watching and bad food, and 
little Molly's strength and spirit were break- 
ing down under the long persecution. The 
stranger was ready to go to all lengths to de- 
stroy poor Rag, and at last stooped to the 
worst crime known among rabbits. However 
much they may hate each other, all good rab- 
bits forget their feuds when their common 



106 Raggylug 

enemy appears. Yet one day when a great 
goshawk came swooping over the Swamp, the 
stranger, keeping well under cover himself, 
tried again and again to drive Rag into the 
open. 

Once or twice the hawk nearly had him, but 
still the briers saved him, and it was only when 
the big buck himself came near being caught 
that he gave it up. And again Rag escaped, 
but was no better off. He made up his mind 
to leave, with his mother, if possible, next night 
and go into the world in quest of some new 
home when he heard old Thunder, the hound, 
sniffing and searching about the outskirts of 
the swamp, and he resolved on playing a des- 
perate game. He deliberately crossed the 
hound's view, and the chase that then began 
was fast and furious. Thrice around the 
Swamp they went till Rag had made sure that 
his mother was hidden safely and that his 
hated foe was in his usual nest. Then right 
into that nest and plump over him he jumped, 
giving him a rap with one hind foot as he 
passed over his head. 

" You miserable fool, I kill you yet," cried 
the stranger, and up he jumped only to find 
himself between Rag and the dog and heir to 
all the peril of the chase. 



Raggylug 107 

On came the hound baying hotly on the 
straight-away scent. The buck's weight and 
size were great advantages in a rabbit fight, 
but now they were fatal. He did not know 
many tricks. Just the simple ones like ' dou- 
ble,' ' wind,' and ' hole-up,' that every baby 
Bunny knows. But the chase was too close 
for doubling and winding, and he didn't know 
where the holes were. 

It was a straight race. The brier-rose, kind 
to all rabbits alike, did its best, but it was no 
use. The baying of the hound was fast and 
steady. The crashing of the brush and the 
yelping of the hound each time the briers tore 
his tender ears were borne to the two rabbits 
where they crouched in hiding. But suddenly 
these sounds stopped, there was a scuffle, then 
loud and terrible screaming. 

Rag knew what it meant and it sent a shiver 
through him, but he soon forgot that when all 
was over and rejoiced to be once more the 
master of the dear old Swamp. 



VIII 



Old Olifant had doubtless a right to burn all 
those brush-piles in the east and south of the 



108 Raggylug 

Swamp and to clear up the wreck of the old 
barbed-wire hog-pen just below the spring. 
But it was none the less hard on Rag and his 
mother. The first were their various resi- 
dences and outposts, and the second their 
grand fastness and safe retreat. 

They had so long held the Swamp and felt it 
to be their very own in every part and suburb 
— including Olifant's grounds and buildings — 
that they would have resented the appearance 
of another rabbit even about the adjoining 
barnyard. 

Their claim, that of long, successful occu- 
pancy, was exactly the same as that by which 
most nations hold their land, and it would be 
hard to find a better right. 

During the time of the January thaw the 
Olifants had cut the rest of the large wood 
about the pond and curtailed the Cottontails' 
domain on all sides. But they still clung to 
the dwindling Swamp, for it was their home 
and they were loath to move to foreign 
parts. Their life of daily perils went on, but 
they were still fleet of foot, long of wind, and 
bright of wit. Of late they had been some- 
what troubled by a mink that had wandered 
up-stream to their quiet nook. A little judi- 
cious guidance had transferred the uncomfort- 



Raggylug 109 

able visitor to Olifant's hen-house. But they 
were not yet quite sure that he had been 
properly looked after. So for the present 
they gave up using the ground-holes, which 
were, of course, dangerous blind-alleys, and 
stuck closer than ever to the briers and the 
brush-piles that were left. 

That first snow had quite gone and the 
weather was bright and warm until now. 
Molly, feeling a touch of rheumatism, was 
somewhere in the lower thicket seeking a tea- 
berry tonic. Rag was sitting in the weak sun- 
light on a bank in the east side. The smoke 
from the familiar gable chimney of Olifant's 
house came fitfully drifting a pale blue haze 
through the underwoods and showing as a dull 
brown against the brightness of the sky. The 
sun-gilt gable was cut off midway by the banks 
of brier-brush, that purple in shadow shone like 
rods of blazing crimson and gold in the light. 
Beyond the house the barn with its gable and 
roof, new gilt as the house, stood up like a 
Noah's ark. 

The sounds that came from it, and yet more 
the delicious smell that mingled with the 
smoke, told Rag that the animals were being 
fed cabbage in the yard. Rag's mouth watered 
at the idea of the feast. He blinked and blinked 



1 1 o Ruggyiug 

as he snuffed its odorous promises, for he loved 
cabbage dearly. But then he had been to the 
barnyard the night before after a few paltry 
clover-tops, and no wise rabbit would go two 
nights running to the same place. 

Therefore he did the wise thing. He moved 
across where he could not smell the cabbage 
and made his supper of a bundle of hay that 
had been blown from the stack. Later, when 
about to settle for the night, he was joined by 
Molly, who had taken her teaberry and then 
eaten her frugal meal of sweet birch near the 
Sunning Bank. 

Meanwhile the sun had gone about his busi- 
ness elsewhere, taking all his gold and glory 
with him. Off in the east a big black shutter 
came pushing up and rising higher and higher; 
it spread over the whole sky, shut out all light, 
and left the world a very gloomy place indeed. 
Then another mischief-maker, the wind, taking 
advantage of the sun's absence, came on the 
scene and set about brewing trouble. The 
weather turned colder and colder ; it seemed 
worse than when the ground had been covered 
with snow. 

" Isn't this terribly cold ? How I wish we 
had our stove-pipe brush-pile," said Rag. 

" A good night for the pine-root hole," re- 










yyi^':* 




«! 



Raggylug I'll 

plied Molly, "but we have not yet seen the 
pelt of that mink on the end of the barn, and it 
is not safe till we do." 

The hollow hickory was gone — in fact at this 
very moment its trunk, lying in the wood-yard, 
was harboring the mink they feared. So the 
Cottontails hopped to the south side of the 
pond and, choosing a brush-pile, they crept un- 
der and snuggled down for the night, facing 
the wind but with their noses in different direc- 
tions so as to go out different ways in case of 
alarm. The wind blew harder and colder as 
the hours went by, and about midnight a fine, icy 
snow came ticking down on the dead leaves and 
hissing through the brush heap. It might seem 
a poor night for hunting, but that old fox from 
Springfield was out. He came pointing up the 
wind in the shelter of the Swamp and chanced 
in the lee of the brush-pile, where he scented 
the sleeping Cottontails. He halted for a mo- 
ment, then came stealthily sneaking up toward 
the brush under which his nose told him the 
rabbits were crouching. The noise of the wind 
and the sleet enabled him to come quite close 
before Molly heard the faint crunch of a dry 
leaf under his paw. She touched Rag's whis- 
kers, and both were fully awake just as the fox 
sprang on them ; but they always slept with 



ii2 Raggylug 

their legs ready for a jump. Molly darted out 
into the blinding storm. The fox missed his 
spring, but followed like a racer, while Rag 
dashed off to one side. 

There was only one road for Molly ; that was 
straight up the wind, and bounding for her life 
she gained a little over the unfrozen mud that 
would not carry the fox, till she reached the 
margin of the pond. No chance to turn now, 
on she must go. 

Splash ! splash ! through the weeds she went, 
then plunge into the deep water. 

And plunge went the fox close behind. But 
it was too much for Reynard on such a night. 
He turned back, and Molly, seeing only one 
course, struggled through the reeds into the 
deep water and struck out for the other shore. 
But there was a strong headwind. The little 
waves, icy cold, broke over her head as she 
swam, and the water was full of snow that 
blocked her way like soft ice, or floating mud. 
The dark line of the other shore seemed far, 
far away, with perhaps the fox waiting for her 
there. 

But she laid her ears flat to be out of the 
gale, and bravely put forth all her strength 
with wind and tide against her. After a long, 
weary swim in the cold water, she had nearly 



Raggvlug 113 

reached the farther reeds when a great mass of 
floating snow barred her road; then the wind 
on the bank made strange, fox-like sounds that 
robbed her of all force, and she was drifted far 
backward before she could get free from the 
floating bar. 

Again she struck out, but slowly — oh so 
slowly now. And when at last she reached the 
lee of the tall reeds, her limbs were numbed, 
her strength spent, her brave little heart was 
sinking, and she cared no more whether the 
fox were there or not. Through the reeds she 
did indeed pass, but once in the weeds her 
course wavered and slowed, her feeble strokes 
no longer sent her landward, and the ice form- 
ing around her, stopped her altogether. In a 
little while the cold, weak limbs ceased to 
move, the furry nose-tip of the little mother 
Cottontail wobbled no more, and the soft brown 
eyes were closed in death. 

But there was no fox waiting to tear her with 
ravenous jaws. Rag had escaped the first on- 
set of the foe, and as soon as he regained his 
wits he came running back to change-off and 
so help his mother. He met the old fox going 
round the pond to meet Molly and led him far 
and away, then dismissed him with a barbed- 



H4 Raggylug 

wire gash on his head, and came to the bank 
and sought about and trailed and thumped, but 
all his searching was in vain ; he could not find 
his little mother. He never saw her again, 
and never knew whither she went, for she slept 
her never-waking sleep in the ice-arms of her 
friend the Water that tells no tales. 

Poor little Molly Cottontail ! She was a true 
heroine, yet only one of unnumbered millions 
that without a thought of heroism have lived 
and done their best in their little world, and 
died. She fought a good fight in the battle of 
life. She was good stuff ; the stuff that never 
dies. For flesh of her flesh and brain of her 
brain was Rag. She lives in him, and through 
him transmits a finer fibre to her race. 

And Rag still lives in the Swamp. Old Oli- 
fant died that winter, and the unthrifty sons 
ceased to clear the Swamp or mend the wire 
fences. Within a single year it was a wilder 
place than ever; fresh trees and brambles 
grew, and falling wires made many Cottontail 
castles and last retreats that dogs and foxes 
dared not storm. And there to this day lives 
Rag. He is a big, strong buck now and fears 
no rivals. He has a large family of his own, 
and a pretty brown wife that he got no one 
knows where. There, no doubt, he and his 



Raggylug 1 1 5 

children's children will flourish for many years 
to come, and there you may see them any 
sunny evening if you have learnt their signal 
code, and choosing a good spot on the ground, 
know just how and when to thump it. 



AW 






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VIXEN 

THE SPRINGFIELD FOX 



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VIXEN 
THE SPRINGFIELD FOX 



THE hens had been mysteriously disap- 
pearing for over a month ; and when I 
came home to Springfield for the sum- 
mer holidays it was my duty to find the cause. 
This was soon done. The fowls were carried 
away bodily one at a time, before going to 
roost, or else after leaving, which put tramps 
and neighbors out of court; they were not 
taken from the high perches, which cleared all 
coons and owls; or left partly eaten, so that 
weasels, skunks, or minks were not the guilty 
ones, and the blame, therefore, was surely left 
at Reynard's door. 

The great pine wood of Erindale was on the 
other bank of the river, and on looking care- 
fully about the lower ford I saw a few fox- 
tracks and a barred feather from one of our 
Plymouth Rock chickens. On climbing the 
farther bank in search of more clews, I heard a 

119 



120 Vixen 

great outcry of crows behind me, and turning, 
saw a number of these birds darting down at 
something in the ford. A better view showed 
that it was the old story, thief catch thief, for 
there in the middle of the ford was a fox with 
something in his jaws — he was returning from 
our barnyard with another hen. The crows, 
though shameless robbers themselves, are ever 
first to cry ' Stop thief,' and yet more than 
ready to take ' hush-money ' in the form of a 
share in the plunder. 

And this was their game now. The fox to 
get back home must cross the river, where he 
was exposed to the full brunt of the crow mob. 
He made a dash for it, and would doubtless 
have gotten across with his booty had I not 
joined in the attack, whereupon he dropped 
the hen, scarce dead, and disappeared in the 
woods. 

This large and regular levy of provisions 
wholly carried off could mean but one thing, a 
family of little foxes at home ; and to find them 
I now was bound. 

That evening I went with Ranger, my hound, 
across the river into the Erindale woods. As 
soon as the hound began to circle, we heard the 
short, sharp bark of a fox from a thickly wooded 
ravine close by. Ranger dashed in at once, 



Vixen 121 

struck a hot scent and went off on a lively 
straight-away till his voice was lost in the dis- 
tance away over the upland, 

After nearly an hour he came back, panting 
and warm, for it was baking August weather, 
and lay down at my feet. 

But almost immediately the same foxy * Yap 
yurrr' was heard close at hand and off dashed 
the dog on another chase. 

Away he went in the darkness, baying like a 
foghorn, straight away to the north. And the 
loud 'Boo, boo,' became a low l oo, 00,' and that a 
feeble ' 0-0 ' and then was lost. They must have 
gone some miles away, for even with ear to the 
ground I heard nothing of them, though a mile 
was easy distance for Ranger's brazen voice. 

As I waited in the black woods I heard a 
sweet sound of dripping water: 'Tink tank tenk 
tink, Ta tink tank tenk tonk! 

I did not know of any spring so near, and in 
the hot night it was a glad find. But the sound 
led me to the bough of an oak-tree, where I 
found its source. Such a soft, sweet song; full 
of delightful suggestion on such a night : 

Tonk tank tenk tink 
Ta tink a tonk a tank a tink a 
Ta ta tink tank ta ta tonk tink 
Drink a tank a drink a drunk. 



122 Vixen 

It was the ' water-dripping ' song of the saw- 
whet owl. 

But suddenly a deep raucous breathing and 
a rustle of leaves showed that Ranger was back. 
He was completely fagged out. His tongue 
hung almost to the ground and was dripping 
with foam, his flanks were heaving and spume- 
flecks dribbled from his breast and sides. He 
stopped panting a moment to give my hand a 
dutiful lick, then flung himself flop on the leaves 
to drown all other sounds with his noisy panting. 

But again that tantalizing ' Yap yurrr ' was 
heard a few feet away, and the meaning of it all 
dawned on me. 

We were close to the den where the little 
foxes were, and the old ones were taking turns 
in trying to lead us away. 

It was late night now, so we went home feel- 
ing sure that the problem was nearly solved. 

II 

It was well known that there was an old fox 
with his family living in the neighborhood, but 
no one supposed them so near. 

This fox had been called ' Scarface/ because 
of a scar reaching from his eye through and 
back of his ear ; this was supposed to have been 



Vixen 123 

given him by a barbed-wire fence during a rab- 
bit hunt, and as the hair came in white after it 
healed, it was always a strong mark. 

The winter before I had met with him and 
had had a sample of his craftiness. I was out 
shooting, after a fall of snow, and had crossed 
the open fields to the edge of the brushy hollow 
back of the old mill. As my head rose to a view 
of the hollow I caught sight of a fox trotting at 
long range down the other side, in line to cross 
my course. Instantly I held motionless, and 
did not even lower or turn my head lest I should 
catch his eye by moving, until he went on out 
of sight in the thick cover at the bottom. As 
soon as he was hidden I bobbed down and ran 
to head him off where he should leave the cover 
on the other side, and was there in good time 
awaiting, but no fox came forth. A careful look 
showed the fresh track of a fox that had bounded 
from the cover, and following it with my eye I 
saw old Scarface himself far out of range be- 
hind me, sitting on his haunches and grinning 
as though much amused. 

A study of the trail made all clear. He had 
seen me at the moment I saw him, but he, also 
like a true hunter, had concealed the fact, put- 
ting on an air of unconcern till out of sight, 
when he had run for his life around behind me 



124 Vixen 

and amused himself by watching my stillborn 
trick. 

In the springtime I had yet another instance 
of Scarface's cunning. I was walking with a 
friend along the road over the high pasture. 
We passed within thirty feet of a ridge on 
which were several gray and brown bowlders. 
When at the nearest point my friend said: 

" Stone number three looks to me very much 
like a fox curled up." 

But I could not see it, and we passed. We 
had not gone many yards farther when the 
wind blew on this bowlder as on fur. 

My friend said, " I am sure that is a fox, 
lying asleep." 

" We'll soon settle that," I replied, and turned 
back, but as soon as I had taken one step from 
the road, up jumped Scarface, for it was he, 
and ran. A fire had swept the middle of the 
pasture, leaving a broad belt of black; over 
this he skurried till he came to the unburnt 
yellow grass again, where he squatted down 
and was lost to view. He had been watching 
us all the time, and would not have moved had 
we kept to the road. The wonderful part of 
this is, not that he resembled the round stones 
and dry grass, but that he knew he did, and 
was ready to profit by it. 



Vixen 125 

We soon found that it was Scarface and his 
wife Vixen that had made our woods their 
home and our barnyard their base of supplies. 

Next morning a search in the pines showed 
a great bank of earth that had been scratched 
up within a few months. It must have come 
from a hole, and yet there was none to be seen. 
It is well known that a really cute fox, on dig- 
ging a new den, brings all the earth out at the 
first hole made, but carries on a tunnel into 
some distant thicket. Then closing up for good 
the first made and too well-marked door, uses 
only the entrance hidden in tke thicket. 

So after a little search at the other side of a 
knoll, I found the real entry and good proof 
that there was a nest of little foxes inside. 

Rising above the brush on the hillside was a 
great hollow basswood. It leaned a good deal 
and had a large hole at the bottom, and a 
smaller one at top. 

We boys had often used this tree in playing 
Swiss Family Robinson, and by cutting steps in 
its soft punky walls had made it easy to go up 
and down in the hollow. Now it came in 
handy, for next day when the sun was warm I 
went there to watch, and from this perch on 
the roof, I soon saw the interesting family that 
lived in the cellar near by. There were four 



126 Vixen 

little foxes ; they looked curiously like little 
lambs, with their woolly coats, their long, thick 
legs and innocent expressions, and yet a second 
glance at their broad, sharp-nosed, sharp-eyed 
visages showed that each of these innocents 
was the makings of a crafty old fox. 

They played about, basking in the sun, or 
wrestling with each other till a slight sound 
made them skurry under ground. But their 
alarm was needless, for the cause of it was their 
mother ; she stepped from the bushes bringing 
another hen — number seventeen as I remember. 
A low call from her and the little fellows came 
tumbling out. Then began a scene that I 
thought charming, but which my uncle would 
not have enjoyed at all. 

They rushed on the hen, and tussled and 
fought with it, and each other, while the 
mother, keeping a sharp eye for enemies, 
looked on with fond delight. The expression 
on her face was remarkable. It was first a 
grinning of delight, but her usual look of wild- 
ness and cunning was there, nor were cruelty 
and nervousness lacking, but over all was the 
unmistakable look of the mother's pride and 
love. 

The base of my tree was hidden in bushes 
and much lower than the knoll where the den 



Vixen 127 

was. So I could come and go at will without 
scaring the foxes. 

For many days I went there and saw much 
of the training of the young ones. They early 
learned to turn to statuettes at any strange 
sound, and then on hearing it again or finding 
other cause for fear, to run for shelter. 

Some animals have so much mother-love that 
it overflows and benefits outsiders. Not so old 
Vixen it would seem. Her pleasure in the cubs 
led to most refined cruelty. For she often 
brought home to them mice and birds alive, 
and with diabolical gentleness would avoid do- 
ing them serious hurt so that the cubs might 
have larger scope to torment them. 

There was a woodchuck that lived over in 
the hill orchard. He was neither handsome 
nor interesting, but he knew how to take care 
of himself. He had digged a den between the 
roots of an old pine-stump, so that the foxes 
could not follow him by digging. But hard 
work was not their way of life ; wits they be- 
lieved worth more than elbow-grease. This 
woodchuck usually sunned himself on the 
stump each morning. If he saw a fox near he 
went down in the door of his den, or if the 
enemy was very near he went inside and stayed 
long enough for the danger to pass. 



128 Vixen 

One morning Vixen and her mate seemed to 
decide that it was time the children knew some- 
thing about the broad subject of Woodchucks, 
and further that this orchard woodchuck would 
serve nicely for an object-lesson. So they went 
together to the orchard-fence unseen by old 
Chuckie on his stump. Scarface then showed 
himself in the orchard and quietly walked in 
a line so as to pass by the stump at a distance, 
but never once turned his head or allowed the 
ever-watchful woodchuck to think himself seen. 
When the fox entered the field the woodchuck 
quietly dropped down to the mouth of his den; 
here he waited as the fox passed, but conclud- 
ing that after all wisdom is the better part, 
went into his hole. 

This was what the foxes wanted. Vixen had 
kept out of sight, but now ran swiftly to the 
stump and hid behind it. Scarface had kept 
straight on, going very slowly. The wood- 
chuck had not been frightened, so before long 
his head popped up between the roots and he 
looked around. There was that fox still going 
on, farther and farther away. The woodchuck 
grew bold as the fox went, and came out farther, 
and then seeing the coast clear, he scrambled 
onto the stump, and with one spring Vixen had 
him and shook him till he lay senseless. Scar- 



Vixen 129 

face had watched out of the corner of his eye 
and now came running back. But Vixen took 
the chuck in her jaws and made for the den, so 
he saw he wasn't needed. 

Back to the den came Vix, and carried the 
chuck so carefully that he was able to struggle 
a little when she got there. A low ' woof at 
the den brought the little fellows out like school- 
boys to play. She threw the wounded animal 
to them and they set on him like four little 
furies, uttering little growls and biting little 
bites with all the strength of their baby jaws, 
but the woodchuck fought for his life and beat- 
ing them off slowly hobbled to the shelter of a 
thicket. The little ones pursued like a pack of 
hounds and dragged at his tail and flanks, but 
could not hold him back. So Vix overtook 
him with a couple of bounds and dragged him 
again into the open for the children to worry. 
Again and again this rough sport went on till 
one of the little ones was badly bitten, and his 
squeal of pain roused Vix to end the wood- 
chuck's misery and serve him up at once. 

Not far from the den was a hollow overgrown 
with coarse grass, the playground of a colony 
of field-mice. The earliest lesson in woodcraft 
that the little ones took, away from the den, 
was in this hollow. Here they had their first 



1 30 Vixen 

course of mice, the easiest of all game. In 
teaching, the main thing was example, aided by 
a deep-set instinct. The old fox, also, had one 
or two signs meaning " lie still and watch," 
" come, do as I do," and so on, that were much 
used. 

So the merry lot went to this hollow one 
calm evening and Mother Fox made them lie 
still in the grass. Presently a faint squeak 
showed that the game was astir. Vix rose up 
and went on tip-toe into the grass — not crouch- 
ing, but as high as she could stand, sometimes 
on her hind legs so as to get a better view. 
The runs that the mice follow are hidden under 
the grass tangle, and the only way to know the 
whereabouts of a mouse is by seeing the slight 
shaking of the grass, which is the reason why 
mice are hunted only on calm days. 

And the trick is to locate the mouse and 
seize him first and see him afterward. Vix 
soon made a spring, and in the middle of the 
bunch of dead grass that she grabbed was a 
field-mouse squeaking his last squeak. 

He was soon gobbled, and the four awkward 
little foxes tried to do the same as their mother, 
and when at length the eldest for the first time 
in his life caught game, he quivered with ex- 
citement and ground his pearly little milk-teeth 






Vixen 131 

into the mouse with a rush of inborn savage- 
ness that must have surprised even himself. 

Another home lesson was on the red-squir- 
rel. One of these noisy, vulgar creatures, lived 
close by and used to waste part of each day 
scolding the foxes, from some safe perch. The 
cubs made many vain attempts to catch him as 
he ran across their glade from one tree to an- 
other, or spluttered and scolded at them a foot 
or so out of reach. But old Vixen was up in 
natural history — she knew squirrel nature and 
took the case in hand when the proper time 
came. She hid the children and lay down flat 
in the middle of the open glade. The saucy 
low-minded squirrel came and scolded as usual. 
But she moved no hair. He came nearer and 
at last right overhead to chatter : 

" You brute you, you brute you." 

But Vix lay as dead. This was very per- 
plexing, so the squirrel came down the trunk 
and peeping about made a nervous dash across 
the grass, to another tree, again to scold from 
a safe perch. 

" You brute you, you useless brute, scarrr- 
scarrrrr." 

But flat and lifeless on the grass lay Vix. 
This was most tantalizing to the squirrel. He 
was naturally curious and disposed to be vent- 



132 Vixen 

uresome, so again he came to the ground 
and skurried across the glade nearer than 
before. 

Still as death lay Vix, " surely she was dead." 
And the little foxes began to wonder if their 
mother wasn't asleep. 

But the squirrel was working himself into a 
little craze of foolhardy curiosity. He had 
dropped a piece of bark on Vix's head ; he had 
used up his list of bad words, and he had done 
it all over again, without getting a sign of life. 
So after a couple more dashes across the glade 
he ventured within a few feet of the really 
watchful Vix, who sprang to her feet and 
pinned him in a twinkling. 

" And the little ones picked the bones e-oh." 

Thus the rudiments of their education were 
laid, and afterward, as they grew stronger, they 
were taken farther afield to begin the higher 
branches of trailing and scenting. 

For each kind of prey they were taught a 
way to hunt, for every animal has some great 
strength or it could not live, and some great 
weakness or the others could not live. The 
squirrel's weakness was foolish curiosity ; the 
fox's that he can't climb a tree. And the train- 
ing of the little foxes was all shaped to take 
advantage of the weakness of the other creat- 



Vixen 133 

ures and to make up for their own by defter 
play where they are strong. 

From their parents they learned the chief 
axioms of the fox world. How, is not easy to 
say. But that they learned this in company 
with their parents was clear. Here are some 
that foxes taught me, without saying a word : — 

Never sleep on your straight track. 

Your nose is before your eyes, then trust it 
first. 

A fool runs down the wind. 

Running rills cure many ills. 

Never take the open if you can keep the 
cover. 

Never leave a straight trail if a crooked one 
will do. 

If it's strange, it's hostile. 

Dust and water burn the scent. 

Never hunt mice in a rabbit- woods, or rab- 
bits in a henyard. 

Keep off the grass. 

Inklings of the meanings of these were al- 
ready entering the little ones' minds — thus, 
■ Never follow what you can't smell,' was wise, 
they could see, because if you can't smell it, 
then the wind is so that it must smell you. 

One by one they learned the birds and beasts 
of their home woods, and then as they were 



134 



Vixen 



able to go abroad with their parents they 
learned new animals. They were beginning to 
think they knew the scent of everything that 
moved. But one night the mother took them 
to a field where was a strange black flat thing 
on the ground. She brought them on purpose 
to smell it, but at the first whiff their every 
hair stood on end, they trembled, they knew 
not why — it seemed to tingle through their 
blood and fill them with instinctive hate and 
fear. And when she saw its full effect she told 
them — 

" That is man-scent ." 





^2?^3^« 



III 

Meanwhile the hens continued to disappear. 
I had not betrayed the den of cubs. Indeed, 
I thought a good deal more of the little rascals 
than I did of the hens; but uncle was dread- 
fully wrought up and made most disparaging 
remarks about my woodcraft. To please him 



Vixen 135 

I one day took the hound across to the woods 
and seating myself on a stump on the open 
hillside, I bade the dog go on. Within three 
minutes he sang out in the tongue all hunters 
know so well, " Fox ! fox ! fox ! straight away 
down the valley." 

After awhile I heard them coming back. 
There I saw the fox — Scarface — loping lightly 
across the river-bottom to the stream. In he 
went and trotted along in the shallow water 
near the margin for two hundred yards, then 
came out straight toward me. Though in full 
view, he saw me not, but came up the hill 
watching over his shoulder for the hound. 
Within ten feet of me he turned and sat with 
his back to me while he craned his neck and 
showed an eager interest in the doings of the 
hound. Ranger came bawling along the trail 
till he came to the running water, the killer of 
scent, and here he was puzzled ; but there was 
only one thing to do ; that was by going up 
and down both banks find where the fox had 
left the river. 

The fox before me shifted his position a little 
to get a better view and watched with a most 
human interest all the circling of the hound. 
He was so close that I saw the hair of his 
shoulder bristle a little when the dog came in 



136 Vixen 

sight. I could see the jumping of his heart on 
his ribs, and the gleam of his yellow eye. When 
the dog was wholly baulked by the water trick 
it was comical to see : — he could not sit still, 
but rocked up and down in glee, and reared on 
his hind feet to get a better view of the slow- 
plodding hound. With mouth opened nearly 
to his ears, though not at all winded, he panted 
noisily for a moment, or rather he laughed 
gleefully just as a dog laughs by grinning and 
panting. 

Old Scarface wriggled in huge enjoyment as 
the hound puzzled over the trail so long that 
when he did find it, it was so stale he could 
barely follow it, and did not feel justified in 
tonguing on it at all. 

As soon as the hound was working up the 
hill, the fox quietly went into the woods. I 
had been sitting in plain view only ten feet 
away, but I had the wind and kept still and 
the fox never knew that his life had for 
twenty minutes been in the power of the foe 
he most feared. Ranger would also have 
passed me as near as the fox, but I spoke to 
him, and with a little nervous start he quit 
the trail and looking sheepish lay down by 
my feet. 

This little comedy was played with variations 



Vixen 137 

for several days, but it was all in plain view 
from the house across the river. My uncle, 
impatient at the daily loss of hens, went out 
himself, sat on the open knoll, and when old 
Scarface trotted to his lookout to watch the 
dull hound on the river flat below, my uncle 
remorselessly shot him in the back, at the very 
moment when he was grinning over a new 
triumph. 

IV 

But still the hens were disappearing. My 
uncle was wrathy. He determined to con- 
duct the war himself, and sowed the woods 
with poison baits, trusting to luck that our 
own dogs would not get them. He indulged 
in contemptuous remarks on my by-gone 
woodcraft, and went out evenings with a gun 
and the two dogs, to see what he could de- 
stroy. 

Vix knew right well what a poison bait was ; 
she passed them by or else treated them with 
active contempt, but one she dropped down 
the hole of an old enemy, a skunk, who was 
never afterward seen. Formerly old Scarface 
was always ready to take charge of the dogs, 
and keep them out of mischief. But now that 
Vix had the whole burden of the brood, she 



138 Vixen 

could no longer spend time in breaking every 
track to the den, and was not always at hand 
to meet and mislead the foes that might be 
coming too near. 

The end is easily foreseen. Ranger followed 
a hot trail to the den, and Spot, the fox-terrier, 
announced that the family was at home, and 
then did his best to go in after them. 

The whole secret was now out, and the whole 
family doomed. The hired man came around 
with pick and shovel to dig them out, while we 
and the dogs stood by. Old Vix soon showed 
herself in the near woods, and led the dogs 
away off down the river, where she shook them 
off when she thought proper, by the simple 
device of springing on a sheep's back. The 
frightened animal ran for several hundred 
yards ; then Vix got off, knowing that there was 
now a hopeless gap in the scent, and returned 
to the den. But the dogs, baffled by the break 
in the trail, soon did the same, to find Vix 
hanging about in despair, vainly trying to de- 
coy us away from her treasures. 

Meanwhile Paddy plied both pick and shovel 
with vigor and effect. The yellow, gravelly 
sand was heaping on both sides, and the shoul- 
ders of the sturdy digger were sinking below 
the level. After an hour's digging, enlivened 



Vixen 139 

by frantic rushes of the dogs after the old fox, 
who hovered near in the woods, Pat called : 

" Here they are, sor ! " 

It was the den at the end of the burrow, and 
cowering as far back as they could, were the 
four little woolly cubs. 

Before I could interfere, a murderous blow 
from the shovel, and a sudden rush for the 
fierce little terrier, ended the lives of three. 
The fourth and smallest was barely saved by 
holding him by his tail high out of reach of the 
excited dogs. 

He gave one short squeal, and his poor 
mother came at the cry, and circled so near 
that she would have been shot but for the ac- 
cidental protection of the dogs, who somehow 
always seemed to get between, and whom she 
once more led away on a fruitless chase. 

The little one saved alive was dropped into a 
bag, where he lay quite still. His unfortunate 
brothers were thrown back into their nursery 
bed, and buried under a few shovelfuls of earth. 

We guilty ones then went back into the 
house, and the little fox was soon chained in 
the yard. No one knew just why he was kept 
alive, but in all a change of feeling had set 
in, and the idea of killing him was without a 
supporter. 



140 Vixen 

He was a pretty little fellow, like a cross be- 
tween a fox and a lamb. His woolly visage 
and form were strangely lamb-like and inno- 
cent, but one could find in his yellow eyes a 
gleam of cunning and savageness as unlamb- 
like as it possibly could be. 

As long as anyone was near he crouched 
sullen and cowed in his shelter-box, and it was 
a full hour after being left alone before he vent- 
ured to look out. 

My window now took the place of the hol- 
low basswood. A number of hens of the breed 
he knew so well were about the cub in the 
yard. Late that afternoon as they strayed near 
the captive there was a sudden rattle of the 
chain, and the youngster dashed at the nearest 
one and would have caught him but for the 
chain which brought him up with a jerk. He 
got on his feet and slunk back to his box, and 
though he afterward made several rushes he 
so gauged his leap as to win or fail within the 
length of the chain and never again was brought 
up by its cruel jerk. 

As night came down the little fellow became 
very uneasy, sneaking out of his box, but going 
back at each slight alarm, tugging at his chain, 
or at times biting it in fury while he held it 
down with his fore-paws. Suddenly he paused 



Vixen 141 

as though listening, then raising his little black 
nose he poured out a short, quavering cry. 

Once or twice this was repeated, the time 
between being occupied in worrying the chain 
and running about. Then an answer came. 
The far-away Yap yurrr of the old fox. A few 
minutes later a shadowy form appeared on the 
wood-pile. The little one slunk into his box, 
but at once returned and ran to meet his mother 
with all the gladness that a fox could show. 
Quick as a flash she seized him and turned to 
bear him away by the road she came. But the 
moment the end of the chain was reached the 
cub was rudely jerked from the old one's 
mouth, and she, scared by the opening of a 
window, fled over the wood-pile. 

An hour afterward the cub had ceased to run 
about or cry. I peeped out, and by the light 
of the moon saw the form of the mother at full 
length on the ground by the little one gnaw- 
ing at something — the clank of iron told what, 
it was that cruel chain. And Tip, the little 
one, meanwhile was helping himself to a warm 
drink. 

On my going out she fled into the dark 
woods, but there by the shelter-box were two 
little mice, bloody and still warm, food for the 
cub brought by the devoted mother. And in 



142 Vixen 

the morning I found the chain was very bright 
for a foot or two next the little one's collar. 

On walking across the woods to the ruined 
den, I again found signs of Vixen. The poor 
heart-broken mother had come and dug out the 
bedraggled bodies of her little ones. 

There lay the three little baby foxes all 
licked smooth now, and by them were two of 
our hens fresh killed. The newly heaved earth 
was printed all over with tell-tale signs — signs 
that told me that here by the side of her dead 
she had watched like Rizpah. Here she had 
brought their usual meal, the spoil of her nightly 
hunt. Here she had stretched herself beside 
them and vainly offered them their natural 
drink and yearned to feed and warm them as of 
old ; but only stiff little bodies under their soft 
wool she found, and little cold noses still and 
unresponsive. 

A deep impress of elbows, breast, and hocks 
showed where she had laid in silent grief and 
watched them for long and mourned as a wild 
mother can mourn for its young. But from 
that time she came no more to the ruined den, 
for now she surely knew that her little ones 
were dead. • 



Vixen 143 



Tip, the captive, the weakling of the brood, 
was now the heir to all her love. The dogs 
were loosed to guard the hens. The hired man 
had orders to shoot the old fox on sight — so 
had I, but was resolved never to see her. 
Chicken-heads, that a fox loves and a dog will 
not touch, had been poisoned and scattered 
through the woods ; and the only way to the 
yard where Tip was tied was by climbing the 
wood-pile after braving all other dangers. 
And yet each night old Vix was there to nurse 
her baby and bring it fresh-killed hens and 
game. Again and again I saw her, although 
she came now without awaiting the querulous 
cry of the captive. 

The second night of the captivity I heard 
the rattle of the chain, and then made out that 
the old fox was there, hard at work digging a 
hole by the little one's kennel. When it was 
deep enough to half bury her, she gathered into 
it all the slack of the chain, and filled it again 
with earth. Then in triumph thinking she had 
gotten rid of the chain, she seized little Tip by 
the neck and turned to dash off up the wood- 
pile, but alas only to have him jerked roughly 
from her grasp. 



144 Vixen 

Poor little fellow, he whimpered sadly as he 
crawled into his box. After half an hour there 
was a great outcry among the dogs, and by 
their straight-away tonguing through the far 
woods I knew they were chasing Vix. Away 
up north they went in the direction of the rail- 
way and their noise faded from hearing. Next 
morning the hound had not come back. We 
soon knew why. Foxes long ago learned what 
a railroad is ; they soon devised several ways of 
turning it to account. One way is when hunted 
to walk the rails for a long distance just before 
a train comes. The scent, always poor on iron, 
is destroyed by the train and there is always a 
chance of hounds being killed by the engine. 
But another way more sure, but harder to play, 
is to lead the hounds straight to a high trestle 
just ahead of the train, so that the engine over- 
takes them on it and they are surely dashed to 
destruction. 

This trick was skilfully played, and down 
below we found the mangled remains of old 
Ranger and learned that Vix was already 
wreaking her revenge. 

That same night she returned to the yard 
before Spot's weary limbs could bring him 
back and killed another hen and brought it to 
Tip, and stretched her panting length beside 



Vixen 145 

him that he might quench his thirst. For she 
seemed to think he had no food but what she 
brought. 

It was that hen that betrayed to my uncle 
the nightly visits. 

My own sympathies were all turning to Vix, 
and I would have no hand in planning further 
murders. Next night my uncle himself watched, 
gun in hand, for an hour. Then when it be- 
came cold and the moon clouded over he re- 
membered other important business elsewhere, 
and left Paddy in his place. 

But Paddy was " onaisy " as the stillness 
and anxiety of watching worked on his 
nerves. And the loud bang! bang! an hour 
later left us sure only that powder had been 
burned. 

In the morning we found Vix had not failed 
her young one. Again next night found my 
uncle on guard, for another hen had been taken. 
Soon after dark a single shot was heard, but 
Vix dropped the game she was bringing and 
escaped. Another attempt made that night 
called forth another gun-shot. Yet next day it 
was seen by the brightness of the chain that 
she had come again and vainly tried for hours 
to cut that hateful bond. 

Such courage and stanch fidelity were bound 



146 Vixen 

to win respect, if not toleration. At any rate, 
there was no gunner in wait next night, when 
all was still. Could it be of any use ? Driven 
off thrice with gun-shots, would she make an- 
other try to feed or free her captive young 
one? 

Would she? Hers was a mother's love. 
There was but one to watch them this time, 
the fourth night, when the quavering whine 
of the little one was followed by that shadowy 
form above the wood-pile. 

But carrying no fowl or food that could be 
seen. Had the keen huntress failed at last? 
Had she no head of game for this her only 
charge, or had she learned to trust his captors 
for his food ? 

No, far from all this. The wild-wood mother's 
heart and hate were true. Her only thought 
had been to set him free. All means she knew 
she tried, and every danger braved to tend him 
well and help him to be free. But all had failed. 

Like a shadow she came and in a moment 
was gone, and Tip seized on something dropped, 
and crunched and chewed with relish what she 
brought. But even as he ate, a knife-like pang 
shot through and a scream of pain escaped him. 
Then there was a momentary struggle and the 
little fox was dead. 



Vixen 147 

The mother's love was strong in Vix, but a 
higher thought was stronger. She knew right 
well the poison's power ; she knew the poison 
bait, and would have taught him had he lived 
to know and shun it too. But now at last when 
she must choose for him a wretched prisoner's 
life or sudden death, she quenched the mother 
in her breast and freed him by the one remain- 
ing door. 

It is when the snow is on the ground that 
we take the census of the woods, and when the 
winter came it told me that Vix no longer 
roamed the woods of Erindale. Where she 
went it never told, but only this, that she was 
gone. 

Gone, perhaps, to some other far-off haunt 
to leave behind the sad remembrance of her 
murdered little ones and mate. Or gone, may 
be, deliberately, from the scene of a sorrowful 
life, as many a wild-wood mother has gone, by 
the means that she herself had used to free her 
young one, the last of all her brood. 



>^ 






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